


The London Connection

by lea_ysaye



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Hospitalization, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Incest, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Telepathic Bond, Twincest, Violence, Whump, imperiled Murphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Murphy are on their way to Ireland after the killings in Boston. Before they get there, however, they have a job to do in London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first BDS fic. Let me know what you think!

****

It had been a bloody long flight. Connor hadn’t been on a plane since they’d come to Boston ten years ago, and he couldn’t remember whether he’d been bored then. Actually, he could remember why he didn’t remember that flight. He and Murphy had both been totally wasted.

That hadn’t really been an option this time. Their pa was with them, and anyway, they were on the run and needed their wits about them. The fact that they were two famous, internationally sought killers hadn’t stopped Murphy from behaving like a bored child, though.

Connor didn’t like being cooped up in a metal box for seven hours, but for Murphy it had been torture. Which meant, by extension, that it had been torture for Connor, too. Murphy had fidgeted and fussed so much that Connor had seriously considered, if only for a moment, to thump him on the head and knock him out. Murphy, when he’d picked up on that thought on their peculiar twin-mind connection, had looked at Connor with what could only be described as a pout.

“That ain’t a nice thing ter think, Conn.”

“Well, stop yer fussin’, then. Yer drivin’ me up dem walls.”

“’m bored.”

“No shit. Read sumthing. Or go ter sleep.”

“What d’ya suggest, read that piece o’junk in-flight magazine? ‘sides, am not tired.”

Connor sighed. “Fine. Wha’ d’ya wanna do?”

He regretted asking almost instantly. There was a gleam to Murphy’s eyes that Connor knew only too well, and he knew it boded ill. He supposed, on balance, that it was one blessing that Murphy actually lowered his voice before he shared his plan with Connor.

“Blow me in de loos.”

Connor tried hard not to laugh. That was a losing battle, of course. Murphy had gotten an instant flash of the image that his plan had conjured in Connor’s brain: Him, Connor, on his knees, Murphy, braced on the sink, trousers down at his ankles, moaning. Just the thought made Connor hard, and Murphy knew that instantly as well.

The glint in his brother’s eyes went from mischievous to fiery in a heartbeat. Connor started to say something but Murphy put his hand over Connor’s mouth.

“No use protestin’, brother. I saw dat.”

He bounded out of his seat, clambered over Connor, grabbed him by the hand and started pulling him up. Connor glanced over at their pa who seemed to be asleep in the window seat. He sighed. It would alleviate the boredom, at least.

*

The blowjob in the toilet had been a nice distraction, even though it left Connor with a stiff neck. The rest of the flight had still been boring, but at least coming twice had put Murphy to sleep. He’d curled up in his seat when they came back from the toilets and had rested his head on Connor’s chest. Connor had put his arms around his brother and had nuzzled his hair.

They were so used to sleeping intertwined with each other that Connor had only gradually realized that the other passengers, and their pa, had started giving them odd looks. Fuck them, Connor thought. He wasn’t going to wake Murphy just because other people were staring. It had been hard enough to get him to stop his incessant moving. Finally Connor had dropped off himself.

Landing in Heathrow had been exciting, mostly because for a moment they thought that immigration had recognized their pa. In the end they all got through passport control without being stopped, but by then Connor’s nerves were frazzled.

“Listen ‘ere, boys.” Pa had pulled them aside once they were in arrivals. “I’m off now ter catch ma flight ta Dublin. Ya know what ter do, and I’ll see ya when ya done here. Let me know when ter expect yer.”

He had handed Connor a mobile phone. “Me number’s in dere, an’ so’s O’Grady’s. He’s expectin’ yer tonight. Go straight ter him, he’ll sort yer out.”

He’d hugged them both, and disappeared. Murphy, indulging in his nervous habit of worrying the nail on his left thumb, looked at Connor. “Now wha’?”

Connor picked up his bag which he’d carried on as hand luggage. They had no suitcases to collect, there had been no time to pack, and anyway, they wouldn’t need much from their old life once they got to Ireland. But right now, they needed to get to… fuck. Connor frantically searched through his pockets until he found a small piece of paper on which their pa had scribbled a name and address.

“Now we’ll go ter,” Connor read off the piece of paper, “St Agnes Parish, Cricklewood.”

Murphy stopped biting his nail. “How?”

“Cum on, Murph, don’t be daft! On de subway, of course.”

Murphy looked at him as if he were slow. “Yer mean the Tube, aye?”

Connor gave a huff and started walking, giving Murphy a smack on the back of his head as he went. Sometimes his brother could be a right pain in the ass.

Connor could hear Murphy picking up his own bag and hurrying after him, but he didn’t turn round. He was looking for a sign for the Tube.

*

Of course it hadn’t been nearly as straightforward as getting onto the subway. Shit, tube… Firstly, the sign, when they’d finally spotted it, hadn’t said Tube at all. It had said Underground, but Connor had cottoned on quickly. Then there’d been endless minutes in the corridors under the airport, up one escalator, down another.

“Why do they call it Tube, it’s loike a feckin intestine down ‘ere,” he’d grumbled when they’d had to retrace their steps for the third time.

Then it turned out that they couldn’t take the Tube all the way, so they got off in the middle of London. After getting lost finding the bus stop, Murphy almost got run over by a black cab.

“You’d tink you’d mind they drive on de other side af de road ‘ere. Yer grew up wit’ dis, Murph!” Connor couldn’t stop himself growling as he picked his brother up from the curb. They finally located the right bus, but then almost got kicked out again because they had no small change and the driver wouldn’t accept the £50 note Murphy tried to give him.

Connor was about to get angry and had taken a deep breath to start yelling at the driver when he felt Murphy’s feather light touch in his mind. _Don’t fret, I’ll ‘andle it._

And he did, in true Murphy fashion. He not only sweet-talked the driver into letting them ride for free but swapped stories about Dublin with the driver throughout the entire journey. It turned out that the guy’s gran had lived just up the road from where the twins had grown up. Connor quickly grew bored with the chit chat, but he knew Murphy considered this their payment for the ride. Yep, that was Murphy to a T. A kindness for a kindness.

*

And then, finally, Cricklewood. It was getting dark, and Connor was famished. They asked an elderly lady for directions to St Agnes and found the small house behind the church as described by their pa. Connor knocked, and the door opened almost immediately. A grey-haired man stood in the light flooding from the hallway, smiling down on them as they stood on the stoop.

“Father O’Grady? I’m Connor, dis is Murphy. Our pa said you’d be expectin’ us.”

The man ushered them inside. “T’be sure I’m expectin’ yer, lads. Cum on in!” He shook both their hands warmly. “Let me look at yer. Aye, I can see yer pa in yer both!”

Connor cleared his throat. “Yer know why we’re ‘ere, Father?”

The old man nodded solemnly. “Ah aye, I do. It wus me who contacted yer pa. But before we talk about al’ dat, let’s ‘ave something ter eat. Yer lads hungry?”

Murphy nodded eagerly and Connor said. “Yer bet, Father.”

The old man smiled. “Gran’! Martha ‘as created quite de feast. An’ please, do call me Uncle Diarmaid. We are family, after al’!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father O'Grady, for me, looks like [Brendan Gleeson](http://d1oi7t5trwfj5d.cloudfront.net/ca/cb/e46f3f3a4e7ea4f6a79aa98b0a36/brendan-gleeson-in-calvary.jpg).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's and Murphy's first night in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be useful later, trust me: Marco, in my head, looks like [Elijah Wood in this photo](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/71/Elijah_Wood_in_Madrid_01.jpg).

After dinner, sitting in the front room of the rectory, the priest had gotten down to business, but not until he’d explained their family connection.

“I’m not really yer uncle, lads. I’m yer dad’s cousin, once removed. But we’re family, aye, an’ that’s what counts.”

Then he’d lowered his voice.

“An’ family, that’s the reason I got yer pa ta bring yer ‘ere. I am sure yer kno’ dat London ‘as always ‘ad its gangs, and de mafia is as strong as ever. Recently, though, things ‘ave gone ter a whole new level. There’s a new guy headin’ the Cornells, oyt in East London, de name af Marco. He ain’t even British, though de Cornells used ter be so proud af their ‘ome-grown ‘eritage. Ah well, times change, aye?

“So, dis Marco, he’s gone ter school with de big guns out in St Petersburg, an’ he’s built up a nice wee business in ‘uman traffickin’, and sum drug trade on de side. But his business ‘as a twist. He doesn’t jus’ buy de lasses from Russia ter bring dem ‘ere ter work in his brothels. He’s found a completely new an’ untapped niche behind the Iron Curtain. He kidnaps young girls, and sometimes lads, from ‘here ter flog as sex slaves over dere ter the ‘ighest bidder. An’ de demand seems ter be risin’ steadily.

“Marco’s got connections wi’ de Krays in Islington, that’s de next borough over from ‘ere. They’ve started snappin’ up young’uns lef’, roi an’ centre roun’ ‘ere. Three lasses an’ a ten-year-old boy ‘ave gone missin’ in de last six months from dis parish alone.”

Murphy had been worrying at his thumb again, slouched in an armchair, seemingly lost in thought. But Connor knew that his brother had taken in every word, and could sense that Murphy was already committed to the cause. Mention of kids going missing usually did this to Murph, and Connor’s heart swelled with love as he contemplated the beauty of his brother’s soul.

“So yer want us ter finish dat Marco, an’ his cronies,” Murphy now said, then looked at Connor with so soft a look that it was at total odds with the death sentence he’d just uttered. Connor could feel a caress in his mind and knew that Murphy had sensed Connor’s love for him welling up.

Uncle Diarmaid nodded. “Aye. It won’t be easy, lads, I don’t pretend it ‘ill. Marco is well protected, an’ I can’t even tell yer much about ‘im other dan what I’ve already said. Nobody knows where he is most af de time, an’ I’m jiggered if I knew how he got de Krays ter cum along in his venture. Dem an’ de Cornells have been blood enemies fer generations.”

Connor finally spoke up. “Leave dat ter us, we’ll find him, an’ we’ll put an end ter dis. We do need weapons, though. And some intel on how dis city works. If I hav’ ter go on dat Tube again anytime soon there’ll be blood.”

“It’s all arranged, lad, don’t worry. Tomorrow you’ll meet sum people who’ll be able ter answer all yer questions. They’ll also kit yer out. But now, I tink, yer two need some rest.” He indicated Murphy who had curled up in his armchair, eyes almost closed. Connor sighed, and nudged his brother with his toes. Murphy jerked awake.

“Wasn’t asleep, jist tinkin’...”

Connor got up. “Yeah, yeah. Cum on, bedtime.”

The priest had opened the door and now called, “Martha, dear, can yer show de lads to their room?”

The dumpy little woman who had served them dinner reappeared and beckoned the twins to follow. Uncle Diarmaid clapped Connor on the back.

“Yer safe here, tonight. Nobody knows you’re in de country, not yet. We’ll ‘ave ter find yer somewhere else ter stay when things heat up, but for now yer can sleep easy.”

Connor would have liked to tell the priest that they had not slept easy, or very much at that, since all this had begun, but desisted. Their true life in Boston was too depressing a topic to share with a priest, even one who’d just hired them as hitmen.

*

There were two beds in the room they were shown, but these days they didn’t even comment on that any more. As Connor was toeing off his boots Murphy was already throwing his jacket, shirt and trousers onto the second bed and was crawling under the covers before Connor had even unbuttoned his own shirt.

Connor brushed his teeth and splashed his face with water at the sink in the corner. He knew it was useless to remind Murphy to do the same. With Murphy this tired, Connor would have as much chance of getting the bedside cabinet to brush its teeth. Instead, he dried his face, turned off the light and crawled in next to his twin.

The moment Connor’s head touched the pillow he had his arms full of Murphy, who these days seemed to be able to go to sleep only if he was nuzzled close enough to Connor to prevent him from breathing. Connor didn’t mind particularly. There was not much they’d been able to enjoy in recent months apart from each other.

They’d tried to keep somewhat of a lid on it when their pa had been with them, but even then Connor couldn’t remember a single morning when he hadn’t woken up with Murphy sprawled all over him, even if they’d started out at opposite ends of the mattress.

Connor could also feel Murphy’s sleepy thoughts threading through his mind. Murphy would spread out in there like he owned the place, and Connor had gotten so used to having Murphy in his head when he nodded off that he wasn’t sure he’d get any sleep at all if his brother stopped doing this.

Now, however, through all the sleepiness and thoughtless drifting fragments of Murphy’s, Connor could make out a fuzzy, drowsy thought he knew only too well. Before he could even make his mind up on whether this was a good or a bad idea Murphy’s hand had already alighted on the waistband of Connor’s underpants, and Connor gave an inward sigh. Once Murphy touched his already growing erection there’d be no getting away from the inevitable. And yep… there it was, a warm, gentle hand wriggling past fabric, taking Connor and starting slow, soft strokes.

“I tought yer were as good as asleep,” Connor whispered into Murphy’s hair.

Murphy sighed. “Almost. Jist ‘elping yer relax, brother. If yer don’t stop dat mind racing I won’t be able ter sleep, neither.” And his mental caresses seemed to add, _Now stop talking, concentrate on my hand, and relax._

So that was what Connor did. Murphy continued with his ministrations, slowly, slowly bringing Connor close, but never all the way. Tuned into his mind Murphy got the same signals from Connor’s nervous system as he did himself and knew exactly how far to tease without bringing climax, or frustration. And Connor felt his mind relaxing, felt his world shrink to just this bed, himself and Murphy, then to just Murphy’s hand on his cock, then fade out as he fell into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a tour of London and learn more about who they're dealing with.

When Connor and Murphy came downstairs next morning there was a stranger in the kitchen. He got up from the table where Martha was busy laying out what looked like breakfast to feed a football team. 

"Nice to meet you," the stranger said and stretched out a hand. "I'm Jon." 

Connor eyed him, but shook the offered hand. 

"Another cousin?" 

Jon gave a little laugh. "No, I'm as English as they come." He stretched out his hand for Murphy to shake, who said "How d'yer do. I'm Murphy, dis is Connor." 

The stranger nodded. "I know. Well, I guessed. From what Father O'Grady said." 

Connor narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly did de Father say?" 

Murphy's mind petted him gently. _Shhh..._ "He said, ‘Murphy's de sweet one, Connor de harder nut ter crack’."  

Connor gave his brother a peculiar look. Murphy sometimes picked up other people's thoughts as well as Connors, but not normally this quickly from a stranger. 

Jon seemed a little unnerved as well, but quickly hid it. "Right, grab a seat. Martha here won't let us leave before we haven't eaten our weight in bacon and eggs. After that I'll show you the city. Consider me your personal London tour guide for the day." 

*

They set off after breakfast, though Connor could have happily gone back to sleep, he felt so stuffed. 

"Do yer English always eat that much for breakfast? Why are ye not all obese?" 

Jon smiled at Connor. "We don't, actually. Martha just shows her affection by feeding people. If you ever leave her table hungry you can be pretty sure she hates you." 

They caught the same bus the brothers had taken the night before, but this time changed buses somewhere neither of the twins recognized. Jon explained the lay of the city as they went.

“This is the number 11 bus,” he said when they got on the second bus. “It goes past a lot of important landmarks in central London. A good way to get a grip on the city. We just got on at Victoria, one of the main train and Tube stations. Always a good place to go back to, should you get lost, or need to get away quickly. Lots of people all day, easy to lose a tail in the crowd.”

They went past Westminster and Jon pointed out Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. Then the bus went down what Jon said was called Whitehall, and he indicated a heavily guarded street. “10 Downing Street’s down there, where the PM lives and works. Prime Minister,” he added as Murphy looked confused.

Next up was Trafalgar Square, where Jon told them to get off.

“I want to show you Marco’s strip club in Soho. It’s one of the few places he comes to with any regularity.”

They walked up a busy road, past a museum on their left and a church on the right (“National Portrait Gallery and St Martin-in-the-Fields,” Jon supplied). The streets and squares were chock full with people and Connor found it both exhilarating and overwhelming. He could see how this place could be both a blessing and a curse when they’d have to make a quick getaway.

The club Jon led them to was located in a narrow, smelly alleyway that seemed miles removed from the friendly tourist bustle on the main roads. The club was currently closed and had a neglected, greasy look to it.

“Is dis place legal?” Murphy asked. He was glancing at the building from the corner of his eye, then withdrew into the doorway where they were pretending to shelter to light their cigarettes.

“It is, yeah. The only legal business associated with Marco, but we’re pretty sure he uses his Russian prostitutes here, too.” Jon sounded disgusted.

Connor opened his mouth to ask him a question but got distracted by the sight of Murphy rubbing his left hand with his right. This new nervous habit made Connor feel sick every time he saw it. He was the one who had broken Murphy’s hand three months ago, so he could free himself from the handcuffs and defend them against the Yakavetta mobsters.

Connor took Murphy’s hands in both of his and looked him in the eye. “Stop that, yer drivin’ me nuts.”

“It itches,” Murphy complained, but lowered his hands.

Connor returned his attention to Jon, who had observed that little exchange with a curious expression. “How come you know all this stuff about Marco?” Connor kept his voice as level as he could manage, but he knew that some hostility had crept in.

Jon regarded him for a moment, seemingly weighing something up in his mind. “Shall we go get a drink?”

Murphy’s eyes gleamed. “Let’s go ter an Irish pub.”

Connor grimaced. “Maybe later, Murph. We got sum work ter do first. Coffee would be gran’, Jon.”

Their guide took them to a small, dingy looking café not far from where they’d gotten off the bus.

“Ok, spill de beans,” Connor said when they were tucked away in a corner where they were unlikely to be overheard. He felt Murphy’s familiar soothing thoughts tendril their way into his brain but pushed down a barrier and gave Murphy an impatient look. He almost regretted the brush-off right away when he saw the hurt look in his brother’s eyes, but he had to concentrate now. This was no time for bullshit.

Jon looked at them both, a hundred questions evident behind his blue eyes. For now, however, he decided to shelf them all and focused on Connor.

“Ok, here goes. You want the whole truth, I know, and I’ll try to give it to you.

“I grew up at the heart of one of the biggest Firms in London. My father was a hitman for the Krays ever since he left school. He and my mum never really got on, they separated when she was still pregnant with me. For the first ten years of my life I had no idea who my dad was. My mum moved us up to northern England, then to Essex where we lived with my grandparents for a while. When they died my mum brought us back to London. I had a sister by then, Emma. My mum didn’t stick with Em’s dad, either. We sort of drifted from bedsit to bedsit in South London.

“When I was ten, and Em was three, mum died. She took an overdose, the police said it was an accident, but that was bullshit. I knew that her pimp had given her the stuff. They’d had a thing, but mum broke it off, and he wanted revenge. I killed the bastard when I was fifteen.”

Jon had said all of this in a flat voice, almost without emotion. Connor looked at the man, feeling desperately sorry for him. A movement from Murphy made him look at his brother. Murphy was stretching out a hand that alighted on Jon’s, which was lying on the table between them.

“Sorry ter hear dat, mate.”

Connor could see the faint glimmer of tears in Murphy’s eyes. Even if Jon had not shown his feelings, Murphy had clearly picked up on them. Jon squeezed Murphy’s hand, but let go quickly. He seemed to be holding everything in with difficulty and Murphy didn’t press the point. He’d wait, Connor knew, until the other was ready. And if he never was, that was fine, too.

“Right, yes. So, when mum died Em and I were split up. She went to live with her dad, and I with mine. I hadn’t even met the man until then, but initially he was funny, and kind. He lived in this big house with lots of other people, there were kids to play with and I felt quite happy for a while.

“But when I was twelve dad started to take me to these meetings. Work conferences, he called them. Soon, they were giving me odd jobs to do whenever I went with him. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time, just taking stuff from one place to another. But when I was fifteen, I started questioning these things they made me do. I told dad’s boss, Luke, I wanted nothing more to do with these packages. I’d seen too many men with guns in the houses they sent me to, and too much police. I knew something weird was up.

“Luke took me to this old man. I learned later that he was the then-boss of the Krays, Reg. The man told me that if I continued to work for them he’d help me take revenge on mum’s killer. I agreed, because that was all I had ever wanted since the night she died. He held his word. They gave me a gun, told me where to find the bastard. I went to him, and killed him. But someone called the police right away, I couldn’t get away quickly enough and was arrested. Five years in youth prison, because they believed me when I told them why I did it, and where I’d gotten the gun.

In prison, I met Father O’Grady. He has an outreach programme with the young offenders centre I was at, and he helped me set my head straight. He took me in when I was released, made sure I went back to school, got my A Levels, even sent me to university.”

“Did de Krays never try ter get back at yer?”

Jon looked at his hands. “They did, but not like you’d think. A year after I got released my sister Emma went missing. We have no proof, but I am certain they got her. I’ve been trying to find out for years what happened to her, with no success.” He looked up. “And that, Connor, is why I am helping you, and why I’d do anything, _anything_ at all to put a stop to Marco Agostini’s _business ventures_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number 11 bus is real, by the way. You can take it exactly as described here, if you're ever in London. :)
> 
> And if you need a mental image for Jon, I imagine him to look like [Russel Tovey](http://www.standard.co.uk/incoming/article9045875.ece/alternates/w620/74tovey0801a.jpg)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins get their guns, then enjoy the delights of London... and each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, most explicit sex I've ever written. Twincest is inspiring. :)

Next, Jon had taken them to the weapons dealer. For that they’d had to go back on the Tube. Which was all right, Connor decided, if you went with someone who knew what he was doing. The train was packed, and they were jammed tightly together in one corner.

Murphy was behind him, and halfway through the journey Connor felt his brother pressing close. He could feel Murphy’s erection against his ass, and a stealthy hand sliding round from the back, trying to wriggle into his trousers. Connor hoped that his jacket sufficiently covered them, and that Jon would not think too badly of them should he notice. Nevertheless, he shot a warning thought across to his twin. _Murph…_

They got off at a stop called Aldgate. Connor was again surprised at the contrasts this city had in store. There were gleaming glass buildings on one side of the street, but all around them beggars were staggering around, scrounging for a few pence between the stalls of a Pakistani food market.

“This is where the East End really starts,” Jon explained. “Before the big banks started encroaching this was where the real crime Firms held sway. A lot of the more… difficult to get merchandise is still much easier to get here, and that’s why we’ve come here.”

He led them down a series of twisted alleyways, past office buildings, Indian restaurants and overflowing rubbish bins. They went through a narrow gateway into a courtyard surrounded by residential blocks. Jon went down a flight of stairs and the brothers followed. He rang a doorbell and after a few moments a buzzer announced the unlocking of the door. Connor could see a camera hovering just above them.

Jon opened the door to a gloomy underground passage and Connor had to fight the urge to bolt. All about this felt wrong. Why were they in this block of flats? Who’d have a weapons arsenal in their basement?

They came to another door, this one reinforced steel. Jon pressed another door bell, and a burly man let them in. Behind the door, the passage gave out to a surprisingly generous space, illuminated brightly, and chock full with weapons. Jon approached a scrawny man sitting at a table cleaning a gun. They briefly talked, then Jon led the man over.

“Connor, Murphy, this is Lennie. This is his stash. He’s been paid to give you what you need. Remember, this isn’t the England, weapons are a big deal here. Not even the police is armed. Go easy on the big stuff. And if you decide to carry any guns on your person, hide them well. Lennie can give you some holsters and explain to you how best to do it.”

Jon nodded at Lennie and went to sit over by the gun cleaning table. Lennie looked them over.

“Follow me, gentlemen.”

*

They’d spent an hour or so with Lennie, getting what they needed and learning how best to hide their weapons. Then Jon suggested they go get something to eat. “On the way I’ll walk you past one of Marco’s known “offices”. It’s a pub with a back room, where his cronies come to coordinate their business. Leave the stuff here.” He indicated the two bags full of weapons that were sitting on the table. “We’ll come and collect them later.”

As they walked Connor asked, “Do yer know anyting about Marco dat de Father couldn’t tell us?”

Jon shook his head. “No, what Father O’Grady will have shared with you is all we really know. I left the Krays long before they’d ever gone near the Cornells. I am afraid I don’t understand that any better than you do.”

After a detour past Marco’s “offices” Jon took them to a pub that, incongruously, served Thai food. Over spring rolls and noodles Jon asked, “Do you have any ideas yet how you could get close enough to Marco to take him out?”

Connor looked at Murphy and they shared their entire plan in one look. It was Murphy who answered. “We’ll go ter dat club, it’s as good a start as anythin’.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, I thought so too. I can’t go there, of course. The Krays still know who I am. And don’t go tonight. Someone might’ve seen us today, it’s not worth the risk.” Connor saw Murphy nodding in unison with him.

“So, what are we gonna do den wi’ da rest af da day?” Murphy asked.

Jon grinned. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas.”

* 

The ideas Jon had all involved them drinking. Connor wasn't so sure that that had been the smartest move, but that thought came later, much later. At the time, stashed away in one pub or another, he simply relished the fact that he felt better than he had for months. He got the same vibe from Murphy.

Connor also finally accepted that they could trust Jon. Alcohol lowering Connor’s mental defences until he could pick up the Jon's thoughts through Murphy's much stronger link he understood why Murphy had trusted him all along. 

They hadn't been this drunk since their McGinty days, before all this had started, but Connor wasn't completely wasted. Around midnight Jon guided them back to Lennie's so they could pick up their stuff. Then he'd hailed them a cab. 

"I've got some stuff to take care of. Here," he scribbled a number on a piece of paper. "Give me a call tomorrow when you're up. There's still some people you need to meet. And here's your keys for Father O'Grady's house. I forgot them earlier, sorry. Martha wouldn't like you very much if you woke her at this time on night, knocking on the door." 

Connor thanked him and clambered into the back of the cab after Murphy. Jon had given the driver their address and there was nothing to do now but relax. Except, of course, Murphy had a different idea. As Connor sank back into the seat he could simultaneously feel Murphy's fingers sneaking up his chest under his shirt and Murphy's mind entangling with his. 

He sighed. At least the driver didn't know they were brothers. And for all the attention he spared them Connor thought they could have fucked right here in the back seat without the guy giving a flying fuck. 

"Don't git any ideas," he murmured against Murphy's mouth as he could feel his brother's amusement. "Let's wait til we're behind closed doors, then I'll do ter yer whatever yer want." 

His instant reward for that promise was a lap full of Murphy, an enthusiastic kiss and his brother's hands rubbing him through his trousers. Connor definitely could think of a worse end to this day. 

* 

Connor didn't remember how they had gotten through the front door, up the stairs and into their room. He later marvelled that everything made it back with them and they didn't lose any guns, knives or items of clothing between the taxi and their room.  

By the time Murphy kicked the bedroom door shut behind them they were both in an advanced stage of undress. The booze buzz and the fact that half of his blood volume now resided in his cock meant that even Connor's brain had slowed down a notch and he was as eager as Murphy to get them into bed. 

He was busy with Murphy's stubborn trouser buttons for so long Murphy finally gave an impatient sigh and a giggle and undid them himself. 

"Yer git tha' shirt arf," he said and pointed at Connor's chest unnecessarily. Connor always had to smile at how his brother's accent got almost unintelligible when he was inebriated.  

Connor did as he was told, or tried to. Before he'd even managed half the buttons Murphy tackled him and threw them both onto the bed. He pinned Connor down and went in for a kiss as if they hadn't had a chance at it in weeks.  

"Oi want yer ter fuck me ‘til oi scream." Connor knew that that would probably be a bad idea and made a mental note to be ready to muffle any noise Murphy might make. 

He had no objection to the demand in principle, though. He couldn't remember wanting Murphy this bad for a long time. He was rock hard already, and just the thought of his brother's tightness made his cock twitch. He knew Murphy got a clear broadcast of that both from down below where he had pressed his own erection against Connor's and via their mental link. As a response Murphy buried his face against Connor's neck and began grinding his hips. 

Suddenly Connor found the fabric still separating them unbearable. He quickly undid his own fly and button, wriggled out of his jeans and kicked them off the bed. Murphy was there to help with the boxer shorts and soon Connor's erection was free of its confines. 

Keeping his eyes trained on Connor's, and keeping the mental channels between them wide open, Murphy scooted down and took Connor into his mouth. The peculiar link between them being what it was Murphy would pick up on all Connor's sensations, and Connor knew that this way, for Murphy, it was almost as if he was having his own cock sucked, too. Connor moaned, and was half aware that Murphy did, too. 

As much as Connor enjoyed the attention lavished on his cock by Murphy's mouth, if Murphy wanted to be fucked he'd have to stop this, or Connor wouldn't last another thirty seconds. Murphy of course picked up on that, too. 

Instantly, Connor felt Murphy withdraw, and a moment later the mattress next to him descended as Murphy lay down on his back. Connor could feel Murphy's hand searching for his, placing a small bottle into it. He knew what it was right away, having packed the bottle of lube himself. He and Murphy didn't usually bother with condoms. They'd never slept with anyone else and unless that changed they weren’t concerned.

Now it was Connor's turn to shift onto his knees. He positioned himself between Murphy's legs while his brother adjusted himself around him. Before Connor prepared himself he couldn't resist taking hold of Murphy's cock for a few quick strokes. Murphy moaned and writhed on the mattress, but just as Connor had stopped Murphy before, Murphy now placed his hand on Connor’s.

"Yer jist gonna finish me off loike dis? Or are yer gun feck me, Conn?" 

Connor grinned. He had half a mind to bring Murphy right to the edge until he begged to be taken. But he'd had a good night to tease Murphy now. He still felt pleasantly boozy, and couldn't deny that he wanted to have Murphy as much as Murphy wanted to be had. 

So Connor let go of Murphy’s cock and prepared himself. The cool slick on his own erection was a bit of a shock but it would mean he'd last a bit longer once they got going again, which Murphy would certainly appreciate. A 15-second fuck was not to Murphy's liking, as Connor knew from experience. 

Connor placed the tip of his erection against Murphy's opening and pushed ever so slightly, not enough to really enter his twin just yet, but enough to elicit a gasp from Murphy.  

Then Connor took his time sliding into Murphy's tight ass, giving his brother plenty of time to accommodate and adjust around him. He became aware of a peculiar sensation in his mind; Murphy whispering, stroking, but something more... Murphy's thoughts seemed directly connected to Connor's nervous system, and his brother was stimulating exactly those nerves that were connected to Connor's cock. 

Connor didn't have enough presence of mind to actually talk, so he sent Murphy the question directly into his brain.

_How did yer learn dat?_

The only response he got was a feeling of amusement, and when he looked into Murphy's eyes he could see such gentleness there, a willingness to do anything, everything, to make sure that Connor was happy.

Connor had known that Murphy would give his life for his brother in a heartbeat, hell, they both would. But now Connor knew that Murphy would give his soul, his very essence. For someone like Connor who was, despite all that saints stuff and the linked minds shit, very down to earth. He hardly knew how to understand a concept like soul, let alone believe in it. But Murphy knew, and for him that sacrifice made total sense. 

All the while Connor had been sliding into Murphy slowly, until his brother's arching back told him he'd hit Murphy's sweet spot. He always liked to stop here, wait a little and then start moving almost imperceptibly until he'd pushed his brother all the way to the edge. It worked every time. 

He did this now, until Murphy was shaking and moaning, pre-cum glistening on the tip of his cock. Then Connor went in for the kill. He was so nearly ready himself, he had to use all his willpower not to climax the second he pushed in all the way, leaning close to Murphy, letting Murphy thread a hand into his hair, place the other on Connor's chest, like he always did when they fucked in this position. 

Murphy's eyes were almost closed. He was regarding Connor distractedly for a moment, then pulled him down for a kiss. Connor responded gently but then sped up his thrusts and within seconds Murphy's head was arching back, his hand gripped Connor's hair hard and he uttered a scream.

Connor had waited for this. He shifted and placed a hand on Murphy's mouth before the sound had quite formed. In the end it was hardly necessary. Murphy was no fool, and he knew as well as Connor that with all the well-meaning in the world a priest would not tolerate two brothers fucking under his roof. But the sensation of Murphy's hot mouth under Connor's hand was strangely arousing and it was that which finally pushed Connor over the edge and into orgasm, too. 

*

They drifted for a long time, conscious thought waxing and waning. Connor was wrapped around Murphy’s back, Murphy was being the little spoon. He liked being the little spoon. He knew he could fit in perfectly, effortlessly, as long as Connor was there to have his back. Just like his body fitted perfectly into Connor’s arms, his mind had the perfect shape to curl up in Connor’s head.

Not quite sleeping, not quite waking, Murphy stroked and petted and soothed. He murmured to Connor, not with words so much, but feelings. He smoothed out the irritations he could feel bubbling up as Connor drifted off into dreaming; held him fast, helped him over the edge into peace and calm.

Murphy knew that Connor’s brain was different, that his violence and anger were much closer to the surface than his own. That didn’t mean, of course, that Murphy didn’t have his own dark sea of violence. They were both killers, and even though they killed for the right reasons, it still left scars.

But tonight, this moment, they were just two tired young men, drifting, savoring and hoping.

_A dhuine mo ghaoil. My beloved…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be interested to know that the Lennie character looks like [Robert Carlyle]() in my head. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins have some more interesting encounters.

Murphy only slowly shook off the tendrils of sleep. He'd always been more keen on getting a full night's sleep if he could manage, and in this strange city, in a stranger's house, he and Connor had finally gotten some much needed rest. 

Connor's voice was what finally brought him round. His brother was talking on the mobile their dad had given them at the airport. Murphy opened his eyes and stretched. He could see Connor traversing the room, holding one shoe and apparently trying to locate the other. 

"Gran', see yer soon, then," Connor said and flicked the mobile phone shut. "I see yer finally awake," he added with a glance at Murphy.

Murphy sat up and rubbed his eyes. Connor came over, bent down and placed a kiss on Murphy's hair. Murphy took his brother's close proximity as an opportunity and pulled him down onto the bed. He flung his arms around his twin and held him fast. Connor returned the embrace but Murphy could tell that his mind was already on the day ahead. 

Deciding on the spur of the moment that he wasn't quite ready to leave the safe haven of their bedroom just yet Murphy tackled Connor and wrestled him down until he was lying on his back across the bed. 

"What yer doing, silly?" Connor's voice was amused. "We got shit we got ter do today. Jon's gonna be here in thirty minutes." 

For a reply Murphy busied himself with Connor's fly. He made short work of the buttons and freed Connor's already sizeable erection. 

"I see yer not as disinclined as yer pretendin'," he said, as if, thanks to their mental link, he'd needed any physical proof. "Sides, this won't take long. I'm real good at it." 

"Don't I know it," Connor groaned and leaned back, accepting the inevitable as Murphy closed his mouth over his cock. 

* 

When Murphy came downstairs, freshly showered and famished, Connor was already halfway through a plate of beans and sausages. 

"Yer just missed Uncle Diarmaid. He's invited us to attend a special midnight prayer vigil at de church tonight, for de abducted lasses. I told him we'd be dere." 

Murphy nodded. "Yeah, we'll be done with our itinerary by den." 

He sat down and Martha put a heaped plate of beans and sausages in front of him as well.

Jon arrived a few minutes later. Accepting a plate from Martha as well he sat down opposite Murphy.

“So where’re yer takin’ us today?” Murphy asked around a forkful of sausage.

“There are some people I want you to meet, across North London. You’ll find some of the things they have to say quite interesting, I believe.”

They set off as soon as they’d cleared their plates. Jon had brought his car today and they drove for around twenty minutes through heavy morning traffic. Jon parked outside a non-descript housing estate and they climbed to a first floor flat. Jon knocked and a middle-aged woman let them in.

“This is Sandra,” Jon introduced the woman. “Her daughter was kidnapped six months ago, by Marco and his gang, we’re pretty sure.”

Sandra, whose eyes were red from crying, waved them through to a modest front room. They settled down and Jon started asking her questions.

Over the next half hour Sandra told them how her 14-year-old daughter Chloe had been systematically groomed by young men for the four months before she disappeared. They’d come to Sandra’s house sometimes, spending time with Cloe, flattering her, bringing gifts. Sandra said she’d forbidden her daughter several times to see these men again, but Chloe had ignored her. Then, one day six months ago, Chloe hadn’t returned from school.

Sandra had gone to the police, but they’d been unable to find out anything. Here Jon picked up the narrative, because Sandra was crying so much.

“Father O’Grady heard about this, and we started our own investigations. We found out that some of the men Chloe had been seen with were Marco’s cronies. And when more girls started disappearing we heard the same thing over and over, and identified the same guys again and again.”

They left Sandra shortly after that. Murphy had been badly shaken by her tale. Sometimes he hated picking up other people’s emotions so easily. Usually with strangers he didn’t receive much, and what did get through was usually easy to block. But being in such close proximity with someone who was so clearly suffering for so long had unnerved him.

He didn’t say anything to Connor or Jon, just followed them back to the car, rubbing his left hand automatically with his right. It often itched, but today it actually hurt. Connor, who seemed deep in thought himself, didn’t even seem to notice what Murphy was doing.

Jon drove them next to a more prosperous neighborhood where they spoke to a nice young couple, Mandy and Mike, whose son had been abducted. Murphy looked around their living room surreptitiously. It was a beautiful room, in a beautiful house, and yet the story they told was eerily similar to Sandra’s.

Their son Joe had been given presents, flattered and finally isolated from his parents by the same men who had gotten to Chloe. Joe’s mum couldn’t stop crying throughout the entire time Murphy, Connor and Jon were with them. When they finally left Murphy had a splitting headache.

Jon looked at the twins when they left the house. “I have one more person I want you to meet. Are you still up for it?”

Connor looked at Murphy, and his face creased in a frown. Murphy knew that the misery they’d been witnesses to just now had affected his brother as well, even though he wouldn’t have picked up half as much directly from the parents as Murphy. That was the reason Murphy had dampened down the connection between them, to spare his brother the additional suffering.

Connor now shook his head, his eyes still on Murphy. “I think we’ve ‘ad enough. Murph, are ye all right? Yer look a bit peaky.”

“Aye, it’s dem who aren’t. Jon, I think we should see dat last person.” He looked at the man. “It’s important, isn’t it?”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

Connor shrugged. “You’re de boss.” But he put his hand gently on the back of Murphy’s neck as they walked back to Jon’s car. “Jus’ say de word and we’ll stop dis.” Murphy didn’t say anything, just sent some grateful caresses down the line.

At their next destination Jon introduced them to a young woman. “This is Sara. Her story is a bit different.” Sara smiled at them. She was very pretty, with long brown hair in a ponytail and blue-green eyes. She offered them a drink and soon they sat in her small kitchen, sipping coffee.

“I am the one who got away, I suppose,” Sara started without needing any prompts. “These men did the same thing to me as to all the other girls, but I cottoned on eventually. They tried to get me to go with them of my own free will a few times, but I always refused. And then…”

Murphy could feel disgust and shame welling up in the girl, and he extended his hand and took hers where it lay on the table before he’d even realized what he was doing. She smiled at him, as if she’d actually picked up his soothing thoughts. Murphy knew that was impossible, nobody had ever picked up anything from him except Connor, even if he could sense them just fine.

When Sara continued she sounded determined. “And then Marco himself came for me. He is… he is very strange. Very… hypnotic. Totally different from what you’d imagine a gangster to be. Of course, I didn’t know then that he was a mob boss. I thought he was just a guy in his twenties who chatted me up in a bar.

“He invited me back to his place, though now I am sure it wasn’t his _home_. I went because he was like no guy his age I’d ever met. We made out for a while, and I think I’d’ve done more if he’d wanted to. He made me a drink, and then another one. Then I know nothing for a long time. Something must’ve been in the drinks. When I woke up I was in a dark room. Nobody came for a long time. I later learned that I must have been in that room for at least two days.

“I managed to escape when they moved me. Two huge guys came and took me outside. They’d put a hood over my head and bound my wrists, but they didn’t bind my legs. I could still see a little through the hood, and when we got outside I kicked one of them in the nuts and ran off. I found myself in the middle of the City, among hundreds of bankers during rush hour. Someone helped me pretty much right away.”

Connor interrupted. “Did ye manage ter identify de building you were in?”

It was Jon who answered. “Yes. We searched it, there was no trace of anything strange.”

Connor looked at Murphy, and they both thought the same. _Too clever by half, expected but still disappointing._

Connor nodded at Sara. “Sorry, go on.”

“There really isn’t much more. Just one thing… and this is going to sound strange.” Murphy leaned forward in his seat. He could feel Sara’s confusion. “I seem to remember one thing from before I was awake fully in that dark room. I seem to remember that I came to, briefly, and there was a man, just looking at me. I am _sure_ it was Marco, but at the same time I know it wasn’t him. He looked different, but he… he _felt_ the same.”

*

Jon dropped Murphy and Connor off in the West End after that and handed them a map. “You’ve got my number. If you need help, call. I wish I could come with you, but it’d blow your cover instantly.

“The club opens at seven. You’ve got a few hours. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t draw any attention. And remember…” he looked pointedly at them both. “Guns are never an accessory in this country. They won’t strip search you at the club, I’m pretty sure, but if there’s any sign of danger, don’t go in.”

Murphy nodded. He could feel the holster strapped to his chest, out of sight. It was uncomfortable and difficult to reach, but Jon had convinced them that it was safer than carrying the guns in their waistband like they would’ve liked to do. They each had only brought one, a nine millimeter pistol with a silencer, and they each carried a flick knife. Today’s mission was reconnaissance; they had to get the lay of the land before they could strike.

The brothers wandered the streets, had a drink and something to eat, waiting for evening to fall. Usually Murphy would have enjoyed wandering the streets of this fascinating city, even with the prospect of killing looming large ahead. But the day’s encounters weighed heavily on his mind, and he could tell that Connor’s thoughts were full of the pain and misery they had witnessed second hand as well.

Murphy didn’t like to see his brother suffering. He had closed down their mental connection quite considerably during the day, to prevent any overspill from the people they’d met, but now he opened it back up, sending soothing fingers out to stroke away the worry. He could feel Connor responding, and soon his brother’s eyes were on him, speaking louder than words.

They stayed connected like that as they walked around the bustling streets, touch as intimate as what they’d shared in the rectory’s bedroom that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girl Sara, in my mind, looks like [Lauren Cohen here](http://images4.fanpop.com/image/articles/114000/lauren-cohan_114958_top.jpg?cache=1309351726).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reconnaisance mission goes ahead.

They arrived at Marco's strip club at 7.30. Getting in was no problem, nobody spared them a second glance. Still Connor had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he'd forgotten something. He tried to shake it off. Nobody here knew who they were, and nothing they'd seen so far in London had been threatening. Connor chalked the feeling down to the depressing narratives they had witnessed during the day. 

The club was as dingy on the inside as it was on the outside. Murphy got them drinks and they found a small table, toward the back of the room, from where they could observe most of the floor. The club was packed, and looking around Connor could tell this was not one of those strip bars now considered trendy with hipsters and tourists. The clientele was as sleazy as he'd expected from a place like this. 

The music was deafening, but Connor didn't need to speak to get his twins attention. While not exactly the same as talking their link allowed them to communicate their thoughts instantly, and sometimes much more clearly. Now, Connor got the same sense of unease from Murphy as had been plaguing ever since they came in. Both their drinks sat untouched on the sticky table between them, and wasn't that just strange. They never passed up on a drink if it was there, no matter where they were. 

Connor was still grappling with the niggly dastardly feeling, trying to locate a reason for it somewhere around them when all hell broke loose. 

No, that was wrong. It wasn't hell, at first it was an eerie calm. The music faded slowly, the women stopped dancing. Glancing towards the entrance where they'd come in Connor could make out several dark figures, slowly advancing into the room. Conversation all around them ceased. 

Connor later never knew whether he'd seen the gun first, or whether Murphy had spotted it and sent a warning down the line like a jolt of electrical current. He didn't remember getting to his feet, just suddenly realized he was running, hurrying through a press of bodies, drawing his own gun. Murphy was ahead of him, trying to reach his own gun, cursing. 

"Run, Murph. Jus' run, I got it." Connor felt the hiss of a bullet too close to his ear, coming from behind. He turned round, returning the fire. When he looked ahead he couldn't see Murphy for a second, then realized he was far ahead, barging through a door. Connor followed. 

He didn't see anything coming towards him when he got through the door, but suddenly he was on the floor, the wind knocked out of him. It was pitch dark, there were hands all over his body and something knocked him hard in the mouth. 

Connor spat blood, panicked. "Murphy! Murph, where de fuck are yer?" He couldn't focus enough to throw out a question with his thoughts, but it seemed like there was an emptiness where Murphy’s mind should be. 

Then he could see again, suddenly, and the frantic activity around him picked up. Men were running towards him, swarming in through an emergency exit. Some of them were police, but more were plain clothes, and suddenly there was Jon, pulling him up and trying to move him towards the door. 

Connor resisted, tried to shake Jon off, run back into the bar. "Murphy, where is he? Where's me brother?" 

Jon shoved him harder, his voice bitter. "They took him, Connor. We were betrayed." 

* 

Connor didn't know how he passed the next few hours. Whenever he thought about that time later there was nothing there but blackness, and his voice yelling. Yelling in his head, yelling for Murphy. No reply came. 

The first thing he was consciously aware of was a scratchy sofa he was sitting on. He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there. There was a cup of tea in his hands, cooling untouched. There was Jon, speaking on a mobile phone, pacing the room. There were other people in the room but they were strangely blurry, out of focus smudges, inconsequential, not real. 

Jon closed the phone, threw himself into an armchair across from Connor, muttering under his breath, "Fuck." 

"Where is Murphy?" Connor knew instinctively nobody in this room would be able to tell him, but he had to ask. 

Jon looked at him, looking unsure for a moment, as if he suspected Connor wasn't quite with it. Which, of course, was the truth. 

"Marco's people took him, Conn." The use of the diminutive made Connor look up. Nobody but Murphy called him that, normally. Well, this wasn't normal. _Murphy..._  

"It was a trap," he said, and Jon nodded. "It was. Somehow they knew. They recognized you, they were ready. They would have taken you both, but we got in just in time." 

"We?" 

Jon looked at Connor. "There's more to our side of the story than I told you. But we don't have time..." 

"Make time. WHERE IS ME BROTHER?" Connor knew he sounded mad, screaming like that, but he didn't care. 

"We don't know, I swear. If we knew we wouldn't be sitting here..." 

"He's not dead, I wu’d ‘no. He's somewhere dark..." 

Jon looked at Connor with a frown. "How do you know that?" 

"Because we're connected, ‘ere..." Connor gestured at his own head, and suddenly realized that that's why he'd come back to his senses now. The connection that had been lost in the club had started to re-establish itself. "He was unconscious, but he's comin’ roun’ now, slowly..." 

The amazement was writ large on Jon's face. "But if you are connected that way, surely you can feel where he is?"

Connor shook his head. "’tis not a feckin built in satellite, Jon. Unless Murphy knows where ‘e is I ‘ave no way of knowin’. Only dat he'll not be miles an’ miles away..." 

He refocused on Jon. "Now, tell me everythin’ you’ve left out so far. And don' forget a ting..." 

*

So Jon told him. He started at the beginning and tried not to leave anything out. He recounted how Father O’Grady had founded the society now known as the Coven of Revengers many decades ago. How, in cooperation with the police and international organizations like the Freemasons, certain NGOs and diplomatic corps all over the world, they were a force against organized crime, corruption and gang culture.

They didn’t just take out criminals one by one. The Coven, and its mirror organizations all around the world, used many avenues in their fight against crime of almost any kind, both legal and illegal. They had industry lawyers working for them, observers attending elections in less-than-fully democratic countries, investigators in covert operations uncovering crimes against the environment, against human rights, against violent and non-violent transgressions.

Connor listened with fascinated disbelief as Jon told him how their own father, Noah, had been recruited by his cousin Diarmaid to set up the East Coast branch of the Coven. Unfortunately, before he could really even start he was being charged and convicted and locked away for 25 years.

“And then, of course, you and Murphy did what your father had been prevented from doing,” Jon said. “You had no idea, of course, but in essence you set up a two-man Coven, in the vein envisaged by Diarmaid and the other movers and shakers.”

Connor was still trying to process it all. “But why didn’t he tell us? Or yer? We would’ve ‘elped yer regardless.”

Jon studied him. “Would you, though? If you found out that we’d essentially roped you in to do our dirty work? That you were now a part of something bigger, one little cog in a big clockwork, ticking away?”

There was something niggling at the back of Connor’s mind, something that didn’t make sense. He shoved it away impatiently. There was no time for this now, none of this. Murphy was a prisoner with what everyone agreed was one of the most dangerous men ever to rule the London crime scene.

“We were bait, weren’t we?” Connor’s voice was deceptively quiet, but on the inside the rage was starting to reach boiling point.

Jon looked at Connor. “I know all of this sounds like shit right now, but believe me, you weren’t bait. We brought you in because we, all of us, not just the Coven, cannot pin Marco down. We know less than nothing about him, and things are getting harder and harder every day.”

Connor rubbed his eyes. It was getting on to midnight, but he felt as exhausted as if he hadn’t slept in days. “I don’t really care about any of dis righ’ now, Jon. I just wan’ Murphy back, alive an’ in one piece. Can yer help me with dat? If not, say so now so I can stop wastin’ time an’ go an’ crack some ‘eads open meself.”

Jon locked Connor’s eyes in his, and Connor found he was unable to look away. “We will help, of course we will. This is going to be one hell of task, but the full Coven’s arsenal is going to be on the cause, I swear.”

*

It was later than late. Jon had convinced Connor there was no use in running around the sleeping city like a madman. “And anyway, Marco’s people are out there looking for you. They wanted you both, that much is clear. And we just about prevented them getting what they wanted when we got the police raid organized just in time.”

Jon had also told Connor that they’d had the club under surveillance and that that was why they could react so quickly. “We have nobody inside, that’s the whole problem, but we saw the hit squad go in, and that’s when I sounded the alarm.”

There was still something off about the whole story, but Connor was too exhausted to make any sense of it. He finally let Jon convince him that he should go and get a few hours sleep in one of the military style bunk beds in an adjacent room.

“Maybe your brain will be able to connect with Murphy when you’re asleep,” Jon suggested half-heartedly, clearly grasping at straws, and no less some he didn’t even believe existed. Connor didn’t bother to correct him. It didn’t work like that at all, but how could he explain it when he didn’t even understand it himself. Murphy, now he would’ve been able to explain this to a head blind person. _Murphy…_

The thought of his brother made every fiber of Connor’s being ache with longing. He couldn’t believe that only this morning he’d held Murphy in his arms, warm, breathing, alive and full of mischief. He silently made the promise to any higher power that was listening that he would never again hurry or reject Murphy when his brother sought him out for comfort and love, if only he could get him back.

Connor lay down on the narrow cot and closed his eyes. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep, but he did so more quickly than he could have imagined. And in his mind, there was a faint rustle, like leaves in the wind at first, a vapor blown away from a warm lake in a freezing night.

_Connor…_

So faint he was sure this was indeed a dream. He spun around, trying to locate the sound. There… no, gone again.

_Brother… dearthair…_

He was there, he was definitely there somewhere. Connor had no experience trying to connect with Murphy over distances, they had hardly ever been apart, and their connection was usually just _there_ , they had never had to _fight_ for it…

Connor tried to send a strong signal down the line, full of love and encouragement.

_I am here, Murph, I am here…_

He wasn’t sure anything had reached Murphy, the feeling was still one of confusion, seeking, grasping what was just out of reach.

And suddenly, a scream. Pain, blinding, endless, taking Connor’s breath away. More screaming. Murphy screaming and screaming, yelling in agony, yelling for Connor.

The screaming woke him up, unable to draw breath. It took Connor a long time to realize that it was he himself who was screaming.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy comes round in captivity, and it's not going to be pleasant.

There was so much pain. Murphy was swimming on a sea of blinding agony, choking on blood, bile and despair. He drifted in and out, more lucid as time wore on, and more and more unbearable for it. 

Initially, there had been no pain. There hadn't been anything. He came to in total darkness. Something was covering his face; he later deduced it must be a fabric bag, over his head. He'd felt fuzzy, but not like he'd been hit, more subtle than that. Murphy suspected chloroform, but he couldn't be sure. 

It had been like this for long time. Or maybe not, it was hard to be sure in the dark, with no noise, no sense of direction. He was lying on his front on something soft, maybe a mattress? He couldn't move, wrists and ankles were bound tight _\- to a bed? -_ and the longer he lay there the more uncomfortable it got. He tried to wriggle around but all he got for that were sore wrists. After a while his bladder started to add to the unpleasantness. 

After many hours - _or maybe much sooner? no way of telling_ \- he could hear a door opening. The sound was echoey and far away, and the footsteps that followed took a long time to get close. 

There was movement around him, and suddenly one wrist was free, but only for a second. A steely grip, then a snap of cold metal against bruised skin. Handcuffs.

Second wrist, same procedure. Both arms yanked back hard, shackled behind his back. The ankles followed. Pins and needles in his legs as he could move them again, blood flow returning. Metallic clicking and his legs were shackled too.

"What d'yer want wi’ me?" He hadn't expected a reply, and didn't get one. More footsteps in the background.

He was yanked roughly to his feet by the arms and stumbled on unsteady legs that had been still for too long.

Murphy was desperately trying to read the guy who was holding him, but there was nothing. What had they done with him? Why could he not get anything? He'd tried connecting with Connor all the time he'd been bound to the bed, but there had been nothing there, either. He hadn't been sure what that meant, but it hadn't worried him too much, until now. As they’d never really been apart Murphy hadn’t known what to expect. But he should receive something from a person who was right behind him, even if it was a stranger. He was suddenly very afraid.

The bag was yanked off his head. A push from behind, and he was on the floor. Sudden kicks to his stomach, his ribs, again and again. Pain seared through his body, he couldn’t control the screams. He could feel bones breaking, ribs giving way. Too much agony to contain…

The light was dim and his vision blurred. Feet in heavy boots faded in and out of view, rough hands all over him. He tried to curl up, make himself small, but suddenly he was yanked up again, stumbling. Dim light, a masked face, more blows, to his stomach, his kidneys, his shattered ribs. A fist landed on his mouth and he tasted blood.

Another shove, hard, and he crashed to the floor again. Whimpering now, unable to breathe. A kick to the head made him see stars. His mouth was full of blood and he gagged. He could feel more of it running down the side of his face. His temple was throbbing. Another kick to the head, this time almost knocking him out. Murphy wished it had.

It wasn’t ever going to stop, he was sure of it. The kicks just kept coming, it was almost hypnotic. He was feeling very sick now. He spat more blood, but the feeling didn’t budge. The room was spinning, his vision fuzzed in and out of blurriness. The dim light was cutting into his head.

His body was wrung out, he had no strength left even to try and shield himself from the assault. He was sure he’d pass out, he felt himself go slack. An especially vicious kick to his middle made his stomach clench; he tried to control the sickness surging through him, but failed. Everything came up in a rush. Retching and retching, the pain doubling with every heave, the sickness increasing with the pain. Too much agony to stop.

He was shaking, trying to wriggle away from the pool of sick. The men had backed off when he started throwing up, but now rounded on him again. Hands were turning him on his back, holding him down. His arms were pinned under him, the agony in his shoulders hardly registering. A boot came down hard on his stomach, just above the pelvis. The nausea doubled and he couldn’t control his bladder. Warmth spreading between his legs, sobbing with humiliation.

Finally, finally they let off. Hands and boots disappeared, leaving Murphy to curl up, finally. He turned his face away, kept his eyes closed, and let the tears run from under his eyelids. Each breath hurt his ribs, each heartbeat made his head throb. His wet trousers were clinging to him, chilling him. And Connor, where was Connor? Why could he not feel him?

A voice behind Murphy made him flinch. “The great Murphy MacManus. Puking his guts out and pissing himself. What a lovely spectacle.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a reminder, this is what Marco looks like in my head: [Elijah Wood](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/71/Elijah_Wood_in_Madrid_01.jpg)

_Look at me._

Murphy’s eyes flew open. The command had not been spoken out loud, it was in his head. But it wasn’t coming from Connor. It was coming from the man standing over him.

He reluctantly turned his head and looked at the stranger, not because he had been told to but because he wanted to see the man who could get into his head when he himself couldn’t even get out of it to Connor.

Murphy saw a dark outline, not very tall. The man looked away and motioned to the boot-clad thugs who’d beat up Murphy, and the nearest of them brought a chair for the man to sit in. He lowered himself with fluid grace and Murphy could see his face more clearly.

The man was surprisingly young, no older than Connor and him, probably younger. He had brown hair and a short beard, but what Murphy noticed were the eyes. They were of a brilliant, clear and unique blue, and they were cold as ice.

“So, Murphy.”

The man’s voice was mild and the tone one of casual conversation. Murphy thought, incongruously, that this man was auditioning him, rather than interrogating. The cruel eyes, so at odds with the friendly tone, never left Murphy’s face.

“I am Marco Agostini, but I am sure you guessed as much. You probably have a million questions. But,” and now the man leaned forward, “That’s not why I’m here. I am here because I want _my_ questions answered. And believe me, I will get my answers, one way or another.”

Murphy felt a dread creeping up inside him. He would have liked to believe that he would never betray anyone who depended on him to keep a secret, but after the beating he’d just received he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know how much more pain he could take before he spilled any secrets this man cared about. And the satisfied look on Marco’s face told Murphy that he’d picked up on that thought.

“Of course, it would be convenient if I could just pick all the intel I need from your head, wouldn’t it? Then nobody would even need to get hurt. But Murphy, you know yourself that that’s not how it works. I can’t just pick up whatever I want from your head. You are strong enough to block me, even if I ask the right questions and the thoughts float up to the surface. We have given you a drug that blocks your connection to Connor, but there’s no drug that will weaken the Gift enough for me to just break through. I can send to you, but I can only receive if you let me. And believe me, I will make sure you’ll let me, very soon.”

“Why can yer get into me head?”

Marco sighed. “I really don’t like answering questions, but because we’re just getting started I’ll indulge you. I can get into your head because, like you, I have done this all my life. I have a twin brother, Murphy, and we’re just as close as you and Connor.”

*

The questions had started after that, and with them, as Murphy had known it would, came more agony. Marco was relentless, he wanted to know everything. He asked about their life in Boston, their mission in London, something called the Coven, where Connor was, where they’d stayed, who they’d met, what they’d seen.

Murphy never knew how he managed not to cave. It made no sense to him, but something inside him kept him mute. He kept his mouth shut, his barriers down. Marco’s henchmen went to town again. They kicked and punched, stepped on his already broken ribs and came up with newer and crueler ways to prolong the pain each time. They twisted his arms until Murphy was sure they’d dislocate his shoulders. The pain of this burned through him endlessly even after they had let go.

On that occasion Murphy passed out for the first time. He came round to the same scenario, Marco patiently waiting, his henchmen quiet as shadows. More kicks and blows, and Murphy couldn’t suppress the nausea any longer. He retched bile and blood, not sure whether the blood had come from his stomach or just his bleeding mouth.

Breathing was becoming an almost unbearable chore. His chest rattled more with each breath, each inhalation was agony. He was starting to feel lightheaded with sickness, pain and lack of oxygen. He prayed that he would just pass out again.

And the questions went on, the same ones over and over. Marco’s demeanor was one of utter calm, but Murphy could tell that even his patience was wearing thin. As much as he hated it there was an undeniable mental link between them, and Murphy could not shut it off completely.

“Did you know your father growing up, Murphy?”

This question penetrated the haze around Murphy’s brain. Why did Marco want to know that? He kept quiet, but he could tell that Marco had picked up on his alertness.

“You are wondering why I care?” Again, Marco leaned forward in his chair. “Your father killed our father. Dad was the biggest gang boss in Brooklyn. Your pa was paid to kill him.

“Yes,” and now he was sneering, “It’s not all noble gestures. Everyone has a price. I just have to find out what yours is…”

Soon he was back to Connor’s whereabouts. Murphy was hardly conscious now, but the repetitiveness of the questions and the accompanying pain was wearing him out.

“I really need to know this, Murph.”

_Don’t call me that!_

Murphy didn’t have the breath to form the words, but he flung them at Marco with all the mental disgust he could manage. Marco ignored him.

“I am afraid, I have no choice…”

Marco sounded almost apologetic. Murphy forced himself out of the haze of pain enough to observe him gesturing at one of his men who stepped over.

“You two.” More gestures. “Hold him down.”

Murphy’s wrists were suddenly free of the cuffs. He groaned as the blood started circulating through his battered arms. He realized almost too late that two men were now holding him down, one keeping an iron grip on his outstretched left arm. Murphy only saw the third man as a blur, and a split second before his boot connected with Murphy’s hand did he understand what was about to happen.

The pain was excruciating. Murphy could feel the bones break, just as they had when Connor had broken his hand, only a million times worse. He screamed, feeling his throat burn with the violence of it. His world was shrinking to the agony in his left hand, and it was too much for his overwrought system. He fainted, but not before experiencing the second excruciating crush as the brute stepped on his hand again.

*

When Murphy came to he was still on the floor. It was no slow awakening this time, but a sudden and violent return to consciousness, and to a hell of pain. He was alone in the cavernous space, lying close to the wall. He tried to move, which, as expected, brought about more pain. His arms were back behind him, in shackles, bound to the wall. His broken hand was throbbing, but as long as he stayed still it was bearable.

Breathing was much more of a problem. He tried to keep it shallow, but each breath was still pure torture. He was unable to get enough air into his lungs, and the panic about that was spreading through his chest.

His trousers were still cold from when he had wet himself and it was chilly in this space. The shivering was intensifying the painful sensations being broadcast from all over his battered body, in turn making him nauseous again.

To try and distract himself from the panic if nothing else Murphy tried to focus on the things Marco had said to him. He was a twin, too. There was something about that bothering Murphy, as if there was something more to it, something important. He stowed the information in the back of his mind.

_Murphy…_

The signal was very faint, but Murphy was sure that he had just sensed Connor for the first time since they’d been separated.

_Connor, Connor, oh my god…_

_Murph, are you ok? Actually, don’t answer that, I know you’re not. I heard your screams, I felt everything. Oh, Murphy…_

Murphy knew Connor was crying. He could feel his own pain slicing into his brother, being broadcast back and making his agony worse. He shuddered. Connor seemed to notice what was happening and pulled back a little.

_You did? But I couldn’t feel you. I don’t understand how…_

_I figured you couldn’t hear me. I’ve been shouting in my head all day. Listen, we’ll come and get you out…_

_NO, Connor! It’s a trap, it is still a trap. They want you, and Pa, and everyone else. I don’t fully understand why, but that Marco guy, he wants all of us dead._

_We figured that, Murph. And of course I’m coming to get you, don’t even try to argue. We just have to find out where you are. Don’t give up, Murph, don’t let him break you… I’ll stay with you, I won’t let this link go dead again._

_Conn, I don’t think he’ll let you. They gave me something to block you out. They might do again._

_Ok, if I do lose you again I know that’s what happened. But for now draw from me, Murphy, take all my strength. I need you to be strong now. It will be worse before it gets better, but I won’t let you suffer alone. Mo chroí…_

Murphy could feel Connor’s mind tendril into his own, take up residence, curl up in there. He knew this was an effort for Connor, he hardly ever did it, usually only when Murphy was sick, or had been crying. Well, both were true now. The sensation was wonderful, it relieved some of the pain, eased his breathing.

_Try to sleep Murph, you need to rest…_

_Connor…_

_Hmm?_

Murphy struggled to remember what it was he wanted to tell his brother. It might be important to share this…

_Conn, Marco has a twin brother, too. And he can come into my head._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out for Murphy.

Connor didn’t sleep that night. He stayed in some twilight zone, keeping the connection with Murphy stable, letting him draw from his strength. He tried to soothe his brother’s aching muscles by stroking the aggravated nerve connections, tried to give him the energy to breathe more deeply. He held on for dear life when the nausea returned, twisting Murphy’s guts in agonizing cramps, making him retch even though there was nothing left to bring up.

Murphy drifted in and out of consciousness, clinging to Connor through the fragile connection when he was aware where he was, thrashing about in darkness when he lost track of things. Connor could tell that he was getting weaker as the hours wore on, and that they had to do something, and quick. He knew that a fever had settled deep into his brother, sapping him of more strength.

He came round to the here and now every so often to check on Jon who was constantly on the phone, or the bank of computers that were set up on the far side of the room. He’d told Jon what Murphy had found out about Marco and his twin, and the way Jon had looked at him had told Connor that a connection had just opened up in the man’s brain.

“You concentrate on Murphy now. I have to make some phone calls,” he’d said, already half across the room. “I’ll tell you what I know as soon as I can.”

The safe house they were in now was different from where they’d spent the night after the attack. They’d traveled there in the back of a van, under cover of darkness. Nobody had bothered explaining to Connor where they were exactly, but there were now dozens of people rushing around, in and out, bringing things and conversing in low voices with each other.

Connor had curled up on a sofa in one corner, closed his eyes and dedicated all his energy to Murphy. He’d stayed like this for hours, not moving, not aware of the room full of people, the bustle and activity.

*

“Connor.”

There was a light touch on his shoulder and he was back with a snap. He opened his eyes and saw Jon leaning over him. Connor sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Are ye ready ter talk ter me, den?”

Jon placed a cup of coffee on the small table in front of Connor. “You look awful. Did you sleep at all?”

Connor shook his head. “No. I was plugged into Murphy, trying to help him stay strong.” He looked at Jon, putting all the urgency he could into his voice. “We have to get to him, we have to. He’s so weak, I don’t know how long…” He could not go on.

“We will, very soon. That’s why I woke you up. We have figured it out. Well, some of it. Drink this,” he indicated the coffee, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

Connor picked up the cup and took a sip. The warmth of the coffee spread in him like a blanket. He hadn’t realized how cold he was. No, he thought, it was Murphy who was cold. He was almost unconscious now, only barely aware of Connor, not aware of anything else. Connor imagined stroking his hair, whispering to him. He knew Murphy could still feel this kind of touch, but he also knew that it was a matter of hours now before they’d be too late.

Jon was now sitting opposite him, and Connor tried to focus some attention on him. “We found the brother, Marco’s twin. It should have been obvious, they look so alike. More alike than you two. But we just never thought of it…

“His name is Travis, and he’s nominally in charge of the Krays. That’s what’s brought these two gangs together. The brothers managed to infiltrate not one, but two London Firms, and now they are in charge of crime in the north and east of the city.

“We know next to nothing about Travis. He’s much less visible even than Marco, and since we haven’t been keeping an eye on him we don’t know shit about what he’s been up to. We do, however,” and now Jon’s eyes were gleaming, “know where he is now, and where he’s headed.”

He leaned closer.

“Connor, we think he’s going to lead us straight to Murphy, right now.”

*

As soon as Jon had mentioned that lead Connor had gotten up and Jon, knowing instinctively that nothing was going to hold him here now had just followed. He’d grabbed a bag on the way out of the door and was on the phone again before they were outside.

“Get the van out front, now. Conn, hold up,” he called after Connor who was halfway to the next corner already. “Our ride will be here in a minute. You don’t have to walk there, and anyway, you still don’t know where we’re going.”

Connor retraced his step, accepting the logic. He was feeling like he was walking around in a nightmare. With no sleep and the constant, desperate worry he was not in his best form. The link with Murphy was very weak now, he could not elicit a response from his twin any longer. He was just holding on, focusing all his strength on keeping him breathing, keeping his heart going.

 _We’re coming, Murph, I’m almost there, just hold on a little longer._ _A dhuine mo ghaoil…_

In the back of the van Jon was talking rapidly, filling Connor in on the details.

“Our tail has tracked Travis to East Ham Industrial Estate. I just had confirmation that he’s arrived. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes max.”

He handed Connor a gun from his bag. “Here, take this. But please, stay back until I tell you it’s safe. This is still a trap. We don’t think Marco knows how big an operation we were able to muster, and that we’ve found him so quickly, but he will be prepared for us to try something. Connor, are you listening?”

Connor focused on Jon with difficulty. He knew that he was right, they had to be careful. If something went wrong now Murphy would surely die. Marco would kill him if he thought he’d been outmaneuvered, Connor was sure. But every cell of his being was screaming for action, for revenge on that man. Eventually, though, he nodded.

Jon looked relieved. He opened his phone again, pressed a few buttons, then listened. “ETA two minutes,” he said. “All systems go.”

The van came to a stop, and both men stared out the front window past the driver at the dark, twilit shadows of a jumble of buildings. The driver handed Jon a walkie talkie, and Jon switch it on. There was static for a moment, then indistinct voices. They could hear running footsteps, someone swearing, then gunshots.

“We have about thirty men in there and around the perimeter. I just hope it’s enough.” Jon sounded tense. Another minute passed.

And suddenly, without warning, a blinding, searing pain was shooting through Connor. It filled every inch of him, burning, freezing, burning again. He went rigid, lost track of where he was.

_Marco had him by the throat. Two men were holding him up, agony on his injured shoulders, but he had no strength to stand. Air had rushed out of him when they yanked him off the floor, and now, in the iron grip, he couldn’t draw breath. One of the goons was squeezing his broken hand, but that was not the pain that was shooting along the wires to Connor._

_It was Marco’s mind, stabbing, penetrating, violating him. Frustrated beyond endurance, Murphy knew, he had decided to try something that might kill them both. Force his way in, batter down Murphy’s weakened barriers, take advantage of his broken state._

_Again and again Marco hurled himself against what should be an impenetrable, sacred threshold, only crossed by invitation. Connor could see the hatred, the madness on the man’s face, blurred and unfocused through Murphy’s eyes._

And then the shutters came down. Murphy had locked him out, he could feel it. Connor opened his eyes, wondering for a second why he was on the floor of the van, Jon leaning over him with a worried face.

“Conn, what was that?”

But Connor had no time for explanations. He hauled himself up and had one hand on the door handle before Jon could even react. He was half out of the van when Jon managed to grab his shoulder.

“Let me go,” Connor snarled and tried to get loose.

Jon only strengthened his grip. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Connor looked back at Jon, and it suddenly hit him. This man was a killer himself, but he was on his side, and determined to help. And Connor needed any help he could get now. He took a deep breath.

“Jon, Murphy is dying. We need to get to him, now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am quite excited to do this, actually: In my mind Travis looks like [Aneurin Barnard](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/36200000/The-White-Queen-BBC-image-the-white-queen-bbc-36229030-500-636.jpg). I think that he and Elijah could totally be brothers, so I just went with it for the story.
> 
> Also, and this isn't too important, Marco and Travis are two characters Norman has played in the past (in Deuces Wild and Gossip, respectively) and I thought they were good names for two young gangsters. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed.

It was almost pitch black between the buildings on the estate. Connor's heart was beating like mad. He knew it was a matter of minutes now, to get to Murphy in time. He stumbled over some cobbles and cursed. 

"Where de feck are we going?" 

Jon was back on the phone. "Hang on." He listened, then pointed to a large warehouse-like structure some two hundred meters away. "There, that must be it."  

They set off again. Connor was attempting desperately to get anything from Murphy while trying not to stumble and fall in the darkness. He felt exhausted. No sleep, and giving all he had to Murphy for a night and a day, had taken its toll. 

Finally they approached a side door to the building. Connor was trying his utmost not to give in to the urge just to barge through the door, screaming for Murphy. He waited for Jon to catch up, and they both drew their weapons. Jon went through first and Connor followed him into a dark corridor. They could see dim light at the end, and hear voices. 

The scene they encountered when they entered the main space would haunt Connor in his nightmares for the rest of his life. The space was vast. About half a dozen people were clustered just off to the side from where Connor and Jon entered. Three men with guns pointed at two figures about ten meters away, one holding up the other. Connor noticed the bodies of at least four other men on the floor before he could bring himself to look at the man who was holding Murphy. 

If he'd encountered him in the street Connor wouldn't have spared him a second look. Actually, that was a lie. The man was not ordinary looking. He had something elfin, angelical about him. His eyes were a startling blue, and they were full of madness, and hate. 

Connor had to steel himself before looking at Murphy. He could sense that his brother was still clinging on, but that he was hardly aware where he was, or that Connor was close. With a sick feeling Connor saw that Marco was pressing a knife to Murphy's throat. He was holding him up with difficulty, Murphy had gone almost completely limp.

Connor could only see part of Murphy's face but he could tell that it looked ashen. There was blood all over him and his clothes, and still running from a gash to his head. There was also a bead of blood where Marco's knife was cutting into the soft skin of Murphy's throat. 

_Let him go._

Connor was amazed at himself. He'd no idea that he had any capacity to get into anybody's head but Murphy's, but he was sure his terse message had been received. Marco's head whipped round, and Connor stepped closer. Marco's face showed amazement for a moment, then split into a wide grin. 

"There you are, Connor. I was actually waiting for you before finishing Murphy off. It would have been nice to have your father here, too. But I've accepted it’s just gonna be you and your brother, for now.” He turned slightly and said over one shoulder, “Travis, come and say hello." 

There was movement in the gloom behind Marco. Another young man stepped forward, and even if Connor hadn’t known it he would have been able to tell that these two were brothers. They were fraternal twins just like him and Murphy, and the differences were noticeable. The second man’s hair was darker, and he was taller than Marco. But the biggest difference was in the eyes. While just as electric blue as his brother’s Travis’s were softer, milder. He looked at Connor almost with pity.

“I never wanted it to come to this, you know.” Travis’s voice was kind. “We can still get this to end without any more bloodshed.”

_Be quiet._

Connor knew that Marco had directed this at Travis. He still didn’t understand why he should be able to read these two, and so clearly. He pushed the thought aside. It really didn’t matter. All that mattered was Murphy, and if Travis was serious about his offer he had to take him up on it.

“What do yer want from us?”

Travis considered him. Connor could feel sadness behind those eyes. But there was also violence and hatred, and a loyalty to his brother as strong as his and Murphy’s.

“We want your father. If you deliver him, we will let Murphy go.”

“No need ter threaten anyone, lad. I am here.”

Connor whipped round.

“Pa, no! Why did yer come? Dis is all a trap, get out!”

Noah made a soothing gesture at Connor. “Don’t worry, son. I know exactly what dis is. I have come ter end it.” He turned and faced the two men and Murphy, slumped against Marco. His face showed great sadness when he looked at his son.

“Lads, ye are right. I killed yer father. Vincento Agostini was a brutal man, not jist a killer. He was ruthless, an’ he had ter be stopped. But t’be sure, for yer dis doesn’t matter. What matters is dat ye can take yer revenge on me.

“But what if I told yer dis, lads: I didn’t just kill yer father. I knew him, from before he became de man I was forced ter kill.” And now he looked at Travis in particular, as if he knew that he had the best chance of being believed, of ending this, if he appealed to the brother less far gone in his madness and hate.

“I knew yer mother, lads. And ‘tis not an easy thing for me ter admit, but I knew ‘er well. When my Annabelle had just given birth to our boys ‘ere and I was forced to abandon dem ter keep dem safe I was very lonely. I met yer mother Elena in New York, at de café where she worked, and we liked each other righ’ away. One thing led ter another, but unlike many such encounters dis one had consequences.”

Connor stared at Noah. Was his pa saying what he thought he was saying? Were these two mad gangsters... Apparently Travis had reached the same conclusion. He looked at Noah with a peculiar expression, then took a couple of step in his direction.

“No!”

Marco’s voice rang loudly through the empty space. “He is lying, Travis. He just wants us to let his sons go.”

“Yer all me sons, Marco.”

“Liar!” Marco was shaking now. “Travis, stop. Don’t listen to him!”

But Travis ignored his brother and kept walking towards Noah.

When Connor thought about the next thirty seconds later he was never quite sure of the order of events. Speaking with the others over several days he pieced together a semblance of continuity.

Travis kept walking towards Noah, his face still puzzled, his mind, so clearly visible to Connor, a jumble of emotions. When he realized that Travis was ignoring him Marco let go of Murphy, who crumpled to the floor. Connor heard the moan coming from Murphy when he hit the ground, and he saw the knife glinting in Marco’s hand as he rushed after Travis.

Connor’s best guess later was that he was desperately trying to salvage their plan by getting to Noah first and killing him before he could poison Travis’s mind with what Marco believed were lies. Later, Connor would almost feel sorry for him. In his crazed way he’d tried to do what Connor was trying to do for Murphy. Save his brother, save the only life, the only truth they’d ever known, the justification for the one action that made sense to him.

At that moment, though, Connor felt nothing but hatred, and he knew that this was his only chance. Connor lifted his gun, and without so much as a moment of hesitation shot Marco in the head.

Travis froze in mid-stride and whipped around. The scream he uttered when he realized what had happened was like something not from this world. Connor could feel Marco’s presence vanish, and the utter devastation from Travis as he felt the same.

He didn’t even look to see what Travis was going to do next, however. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see people rushing towards them all, but he turned his back on everyone. His only focus was Murphy.

Connor dropped to the floor next to his twin seconds after he’d fired the shot. His mind was frantically busy trying to find a way to connect with his brother, to bring him back. Physically, he was more gentle. He turned Murphy over and immediately realized that he was barely breathing. His lips were blue, and when Connor felt for a pulse, it was faint and irregular under his fingers when he finally located it.

They needed to get Murphy to hospital. That thought finally cleared a path through his scrambled brain and reconnected him with the outside world. Connor looked around. He could see a second scene very similar to their own just behind him. Travis was cradling the lifeless form of his brother in his arms, still screaming. Connor hadn’t actually realized the noise level until that moment. Noah was close by them, tears running down his face.

He located Jon, crouching between Travis and himself, keeping a distance but clearly on alert in case Travis’s grief turned to murderous revenge.

“Jon, we need an ambulance, now!”

Jon moved closer. “Already on the way.” He looked at Connor with a mixture of horror and pity, but Connor didn’t have any energy to spare for anybody’s thoughts just this moment. He focused back on Murphy, and finally, finally could feel a tiny sliver of awareness in his brother. Connor lifted him up a bit more, supporting Murphy’s body with his own to try and ease his breathing. His brother felt scarily hot in his arms, but he was shivering, his chest rattling with each shallow inhalation.

_Conn…_

Impossibly weak, but Murphy was there, in Connor’s head. Connor almost wept with relief. Murphy’s eyes were still closed, but Connor knew that somewhere behind the bruises life had returned.

_I’ve got you, brother, you’ll be ok. Help is on the way. Just hang on a little longer._

Nothing registered now except the feeling of Murphy against his chest, the faint heartbeat, the labored breathing.

And then the paramedics were there. Connor let go of Murphy very reluctantly but he knew he had to let the men do their job. He stayed as close as he could without being in the way. Connor told them first to free Murphy from the handcuffs if they could because he could tell how much they hurt him. When they came off and the EMTs brought his arms round to the front Murphy actually cried out. Connor could feel the renewed pain in his brother and his heart almost broke. He kept his mind intertwined with Murphy’s, still not sure whether his twin actually knew he was there.

Still nothing outside Murphy seemed real. Connor was vaguely aware of their pa and of Jon, helping to deal with Travis and the dead body of his brother. Connor had no feeling to spare for any of them. When the EMTs were finishing off he rose to his feet to go with them and nobody held him back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally safe, can the twins start healing?

They took Murphy away when they arrived at the hospital, and Connor knew he had to let them, but it wasn't easy. He paced the waiting room they'd shown him to, and was glad when Jon arrived. A nurse came in with him and handed Connor a wet towel. He gave her a blank look and she pointed.  

"There’s blood all over your hands."  

Connor looked down and was amazed to see she was right. There was also blood on his shirt, but for now there was nothing he could do about that. He wiped his hands on the towel.  

Jon stepped closer. "How is he?"  

"Alive."

That was all Connor could say for certain. He could feel Murphy hovering, just at the edge of his awareness. He'd not gotten better or worse since that first moment of reconnection in the warehouse.  

Connor looked at Jon. "Did I really shoot me brother?"  

Until the moment he heard the words it hadn't even registered, but now it hit home. He started to shake.

Jon took him gently by the elbow. "Sit down, Connor. We need to talk, and you look ready to keel over."  

Connor did as he was told. He felt very weak all of a sudden.  

“You don’t need to worry about getting into trouble with the police over Marco,” Jon said. 

Connor wasn’t sure what to feel about that. He’d killed plenty of gangsters in his time and had never felt guilty, but this was different. He’d killed his brother. True, Marco had done terrible things to many people, and he’d tortured Murphy, but at the moment Connor had shot him he’d not been a threat to anyone.  

He was sure Noah and Jon could’ve dealt easily with Marco and his knife. He hadn’t shot Marco because he was a threat. He’d shot him in cold-blooded revenge for the pain he’d caused his twin. That thought was hard for Connor to accept, but it was the truth. 

At that moment Noah came into the room. He was also covered in blood, and looked as exhausted as Connor felt. Connor looked at him with some apprehension. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, or whether he could say anything at all, but the worry turned out to be unnecessary. Noah just opened his arms and Connor went to him. 

*

They didn’t speak much, just sat and waited. It was clear that Noah was devastated to lose a son, even if he had never met them before this night.

“I only put two an’ two together when Jon got in touch with de news about Murphy. I knew dat Elena’d had twins, but she never let me see dem, and she disappeared. I tried ter find her. Maybe not as ‘ard as I should ‘av, but I did try…” 

There were tears in Noah’s eye. Connor put a hand on his arm. “What happened to de other one?” 

Noah sighed. “Travis is ‘ere as well, on de psych ward. The death of his brother has hit him hard. I don’t really understand it, but he seems ter have gone insane with grief. De doc said ‘e might never cum round…” 

Connor found he couldn’t look at his pa. “I think dey were like Murph and I, dey shared a mental link. It’d be me up on dat ward now, if Murphy’d died…” 

Their father looked at him with puzzlement, but was prevented from asking questions by a doctor stepping into the room. Connor was on his feet immediately. He knew nothing terrible could have happened to Murphy, he would have known right away, without anyone having to tell him. But he was still desperate to get to his side as soon as possible. 

"How is ‘e?" 

The doctor looked tired. "Still in surgery. It looked bad for a bit there, he has such extensive internal bleeding. It's a miracle his body didn't just shut down hours ago. Anyone else’s would have, with that kind of blood loss. It's like he had some external kind of energy to draw on." 

Connor didn't like the curious look the doc gave him. He had no desire to share anything about their link with a stranger, so he asked, "Is ‘e going ter be ok, though?" 

The doctor gave a half nod, half shrug. "The surgeons are still working on stopping the bleeding on his liver. I wanted to update you now so you didn't have to wait longer, and to prepare you for either outcome. 

"We had to remove a kidney and the spleen, they were too badly damaged. His lungs both collapsed from the force with which his ribs were broken, and the long time without treatment. I have never seen someone suffer such injuries from a beating."

He looked like he was going to ask about what had happened but then seemed to decide against it. "He's got a concussion and a cracked skull. Several broken teeth. His right shoulder was dislocated, the left collarbone is broken, and so is his left hand. It'll take months for him to recover. None of this is irreparable, though, and as long as he makes it through the initial operation..." 

At that moment the doctor's pager beeped. He gazed at it with a frown. When he looked back at Connor his gaze was inscrutable. 

"Excuse me, I have to see to this. I'll be back as soon as I have more news." 

With that the doc was gone before Connor could say anything. He mentally checked on Murphy, nothing seemed to have changed. Taking this as encouragement, and a sign that the doc's sudden departure wasn't related to anything to do with his brother Connor went back to sit with his pa and Jon. 

He didn’t like what the doctor had said, but other than staying in constant mental contact, trying to send Murphy strength Connor couldn’t think of anything to do. It was driving him half insane, sitting powerless, but he guessed he’d just have to lump it.

*

More time passed. Around seven hours - by Connor's best estimate - after they'd arrived at the hospital he finally felt something shift in the mental connection. It wasn't anything coherent he received, hardly an emotion, but he knew Murphy had started the long ascend out of oblivion. Connor couldn't sit still any longer, trapped in this depressing limbo of a waiting room. If there was any chance that he could be with Murphy he had to try.

He got up. 

"I'll go and check if there's any news." Not waiting for a reply Connor disappeared through the door. He'd only gone a few steps when he saw the doctor walking in his direction. He looked surprised to see Connor, but not alarmed. 

"Can I see him? Please," Connor added, and some of his desperation must have shown in his voice. The doc looked sympathetic and finally nodded. 

"We just got him back to ICU. This way." He led Connor down a hall. They came to a halt outside a door that was guarded by two men in black suits and sunglasses. Connor thought he should have known that he wasn't the only one worried for Murphy's safety, and he felt gratitude for Jon, and anyone at the Coven who'd provided for this security. 

Connor had to stop outside the door and take a couple of deep breaths before going in. He didn't like hospitals, could barely tolerate the antiseptic smell and the sounds of the machines. He knew he'd have a hard time being around Murphy while he was attached to all this medical equipment and mentally braced himself for the sight. 

The doctor went ahead and opened the door. Connor walked through, with his heart beating hard in his chest. At first he didn't even really understand what he was looking at. The array of machines was staggering, and to his ears so were the beeps, bings and other noises coming from them. The bed seemed enormous and yet there was hardly space for Murphy in it, what with all the tubes and lines sneaking in and out between the sheets. Murphy in contrast looked small and fragile, propped up at a slight angle to, Connor presumed, ease pressure on his lungs.  

There was a breathing tube in his mouth, as Connor had expected. His face was all shades of black and purple, and stitches were just visible under a bandage. Connor knew that that was where most of the blood on his own shirt had come from. The parts of Murphy’s face that were not in all shades of the rainbow seemed to have no color at all.

Murphy was wearing a hospital issue nightshirt but his left shoulder was bound tight and the shirt had not been pulled over that arm. Connor could see a cast on the broken left hand, too. More bandages were just about visible between bed clothes and nightshirt, presumably wrapped around the broken ribs. 

Connor stepped closer to the bed. He stayed on Murphy's right, and when he was close enough he hovered his hand just above Murphy's as it was lying on the mattress. The doctor stepped closer. 

"You can hold his hand if you want." 

Connor wanted, badly, but he was also afraid. Afraid to hurt his brother more, afraid to pull out lines or cause some other kind of damage. Then he felt ashamed. Murphy had been through so much, he needed Connor now, and Connor couldn't even hold his hand? 

So, very carefully, Connor intertwined their fingers. Murphy still felt very hot to the touch.  

"Why’s ‘e still burning up? Aren't ye givin’ him something?" 

"It'll take time, Connor. The injuries to his abdomen caused damage to his intestines, which leaked over the hours before he finally received treatment, and he got septic. His body is weak and can't fight back, so the antibiotics will take some time to work." 

The doctor pushed a chair over for Connor. “Sit, stay with him. It’s clear that you need to be here.”

Connor looked at him uncomprehendingly, and the doctor pointed at one of the machines. It was the one that had been beeping the most insistent when they’d come in, and now it seemed to be much quieter.

“Your brother’s heart rate has been all over the place. Despite all the transfusions and fluids we couldn’t get it to resume a normal rhythm. Now, finally, it’s almost back to what it should be. I don’t understand it, but you just being here is doing your brother a world of good.”

Connor’s throat felt tight. He didn’t want to cry in front of this doctor, but he could feel the tears welling up, so he quickly looked back at Murphy. He heard the doctor quietly leave and close the door behind him.

Connor sat in the chair. He still held on to Murphy’s hand with great care, frightened to jostle him even an inch. He made tiny circles on the back of his brother’s hand with his thumb, feeling this the only safe thing to do under the circumstances.

_Don’t be afraid, brother. Don’t cry…_

The sudden reconnection startled Connor.

_Murphy! Oh, Murphy…_

And now the tears were unstoppable. Connor let them run down his cheeks, and finally, overcome with sobs, he rested his elbows on the bed next to Murphy and buried his head in his hands.

This was how he stayed. Murphy was back in his head, curled up, warm and soft. Connor could feel the toll his recent ordeal had taken on his brother’s mind as well as his body; the soul that was intertwined with his was still fragile, darker and less hopeful. But it was his brother, spreading loving caresses in Connor’s head, crowding out some of the despair, the sadness and the guilt.

There was a lot of healing to be done for both of them, but Connor knew they’d have each other to help with it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More pain and suffering as the brothers try to heal.

The first few days were hard. The sepsis had taken hold in Murphy's body and there was so little strength left in him that his system had a hard time fighting it. The doctors talked of more operations, of things like bowel resection and colostomy bags if the injured intestines didn't come back online soon. 

Connor didn't like the sound of any of it. His brother had suffered enough, he didn't need the indignity of pooping in a bag for the rest of his life, too. Thus Connor concentrated on giving Murphy as much of his own strength as he could. It made him weak and irritable but that was hardly important now. 

Once he'd been let back to Murphy's side Connor had no intention of leaving again. They had a hairy situation the first evening when an inexperienced nurse insisted that Connor leave for the night. Only that fact that Jon was there and managed to intervene in time prevented Connor from pulling his gun on her.  

Instead, a second bed was brought into the room for Connor. He only learned later how lucky they'd been to end up at a Coven-run private hospital, and that hospitals in the UK didn't normally come with private rooms, extra beds and security guards outside your door. For now, though, Connor felt loath even lying down in the second bed.

He knew he had to sleep, to keep up his own strength so Murphy could continue to draw from him. He'd contemplated lying down next to his brother but there just simply was no space with all the tubes coming out of his twin. 

So into the second bed Connor went, and the moment his head touched the pillow there Murphy was in his mind, soothing and petting and smoothing away the worries. Connor wanted to protest, tell Murphy to conserve all energy but Murphy placed the mental equivalent of a finger on Connor's lips. 

_Shh, brother. My heart, just go to sleep..._

So Connor did, wrapped up in Murphy's telepathic embrace, dreaming he was holding him in the physical world as well. 

* 

During the third day Murphy's fever finally broke. Connor had been sitting in his usual spot, half drowsing. Jon and pa had just been in but had gone off to check on Travis. Connor felt a sudden burden lift, as if something inside Murphy was relaxing and exhaling for the first time in days.

Connor stretched out a hand to feel Murphy's face and it was cooler than it had been since the night in the warehouse. At the same time he could feel his brother's mind letting go of some tightly coiled control. He sent a soothing caress and felt Murphy's mind change to what he realized was Murphy's usual sleep state. Connor hadn't even noticed that it had been absent. 

_Sleep, my love. Soon you'll be well enough to come back to me..._

* 

They had brought Murphy out of sedation the next day. Connor couldn't wait to have Murphy awake but he was also worried about the amount of pain that would bring on. Murphy was groggy most of that first day off the ventilator. He'd smiled at Connor weakly when he first came round, but had fallen asleep right after that. He'd drifted in and out of sleep all day and the pain seemed to be held at bay by the meds. Connor had hoped he could climb in with Murphy and sleep by his side again once the ventilator was gone, but when evening came and Murphy was still not awake Connor lay down on the other bed again. 

He was woken in the middle of the night by an insistent stabbing feeling inside his gut. When he'd shaken off the last dreamy remnants he realized that the feeling wasn't in his own body at all but instead was coming from Murphy. He looked over to the other bed in the never-quite-dark of their hospital room and could only vaguely make out his brothers’ shape curled up under the covers. 

Connor sat up. His mind reaching out he could feel his probing thought pressing against a familiar barrier. And still he could feel the pain emanating from Murphy and knew that if it was getting through even though Murphy was trying to block him he must be in utter agony. Connor was out of bed in a heartbeat and felt the wall for the light switch. 

"Murph, what is it?"

He looked down at his twin and saw that he was shaking under the covers, curled up and facing away. Not wanting to make him move Connor hurried around the bed and crouched down. Murphy's face was ashen under the fading bruises and covered in sweat. He had drawn his legs up to his belly as far as he could with all the tubes and wires.  

His eyes were closed, his voice barely a whisper. "Conn, help me..." 

"Why didn't yer say yer was hurting, Murph? How long has it been dis bad?"

Connor pulled away the sheets to assess what was going on and saw blood pooling on the sheets and soaking into his brother's shirt. He ran for help. 

*

There was very little sleep to be had after that. The doctors calmed Connor quickly by reassuring him that the blood had come from a couple of drains Murphy had accidentally pulled from the incision, and that the intense pain was due mostly to Murphy being a stubborn bastard and not asking for more pain meds when the dose he’d been given had started to wear off.

“You’ve had major abdominal surgery less than 72 hours ago, you will need pain meds for a good while to come,” the doctor had reminded Murphy sternly.

When the doctors and nurses had finished reinserting the drains (Connor had felt like fainting himself by the end of it due to the grisly procedure and the pain radiating from Murphy again, still not quite masked by the additional painkillers) and fixing an automatic narcotics pump they had finally left them alone again. Connor had nudged Murphy gently.

“Now that yer awake I can crawl in with yer. Scoot over.”

That was easier said than done, but because Connor could tell Murphy was as eager as he was he didn’t feel too bad making Murphy gingerly move himself on the bed. Connor helped by holding tubes out of the way and then climbed onto the bed. He waited until Murphy had successfully ridden out the discomfort brought on by moving around, then carefully enfolded his brother in his arms.  

Murphy rested his head on Connor's chest with a sigh and settled into him so completely that for the first time in many days Connor didn't feel anything but contentment. He could sense Murphy’s body relaxing and his mind threading tendrils into his own. The barrier disappeared. Connor could still feel pain and nausea in his twin but they were faint now, and bearable. 

"If yer feelin’ bad again, jist tell me righ’ away, aye?" 

"Hmhm..." And after a moment. "Conn..." 

"Murph?" 

"What happened to yer, tha’...that night?" 

Connor was quiet for so long Murphy started to fidget. "Marco is dead, I know that. But why do yer block me out from dat memory? Conn, I know dere was a shot, I could taste it, when ‘e died…" 

"Taste it, Murph?" 

"Aye..." 

Connor sighed. Murphy and his weird brain. But he knew he couldn't stall any longer. Murphy would find out soon regardless. 

So Connor opened his mind to Murphy, aware that he hadn't even realized he could shut parts of it down to his twin. He felt his brother's probing consciousness like a flutter of wings for only a second, then a deep sadness. 

"Oh, Conn, me poor love. Why did yer tink you had ter do it?" 

"He tortured ye, Murphy. He was insane, but he hurt ye so bad, and I went insane fer a bit dere, too... I didn't really know what I was doing until it was ter late..." 

He could feel Murphy's tears soak into his shirt. Connor was sorry he had made Murphy cry. He would've liked to discuss this later, when Murphy was stronger, but there was nothing for it now. 

"Dere were another set like us, an’ we never knew..." 

Connor knew Murphy was now mourning more than just the way Marco had died and Connor's involvement in it. He wasn't yet sure what he thought of the whole thing himself, but he’d been afraid that Murphy would feel strongly about it. 

"Dey weren't like us, though, Murph. And I don't jus’ mean dey were gangsters. Dey were full of hate, brother. We ain't. We don't enjoy de killing. Marco, he thrived on hurtin’ ye. I could feel it in him, and I know yer could, too." 

"But dey hadn’t always been like dat, had dey? And Travis, he wanted ter stop it all. I couldn't feel much from ‘im when he arrived, everything hurt so bad, but I could feel dat he was sorry and wanted Marco ter stop."

Connor could feel the sorrow in Murphy, and his heart hurt for him. When Murphy continued he sounded like he was about to fall asleep. "He's lost now, Conn. I don't think he can ever come back..." 

And with that strange statement Connor felt Murphy drift off. He didn't bother asking how Murphy knew. It was unlikely he'd understand. 

* 

The days passed slowly at the hospital. Murphy was making little progress, his body seemed disinclined to help itself recover. He was sick a lot of the time and that slowed everything down, which tested both of their patience.

Connor wanted to get away from London, move them on to Ireland, leave this whole business behind. But of course Murphy was in no state to be moved anywhere, and their pa would not leave Travis behind just yet. Murphy suffered the mental anguish pa felt almost as keenly as his own physical pain. His preoccupation with Travis's fate and his brooding over that second pair of twins sapped his energy, and in Connor's opinion he didn't focus enough on getting better. 

Connor finally snapped when Murphy kept refusing to agree to his physiotherapist's urging to get out of bed and sit up for a few hours. 

"Do ye want ter get better, Murph? Do ye? Or do yer want ter keep wallowin’ in self-pity and me runnin’ me ass off ter do yer every bidding?" 

Connor was almost sorry when he saw Murphy's eyes fill with tears, looking anywhere but at him, but only almost. He felt a barrier come down between them, which made Connor only more furious.  He snatched his jacket off the back of a chair. 

"I'm going for a walk." Without a backward glance he stomped out of the room. He had taken only a few steps down the corridor when he could feel Murphy's mind opening again and a tendril of gentleness alighting on his own. But Connor could play that game too. He locked Murphy out, even though it hurt him to the core doing it. 

*

Connor wandered aimlessly for an hour close to the hospital, smoking on cigarette after another. Finally, having cooled off enough to feel properly sorry, Connor went back. 

He returned to a surprise. Murphy was sitting in an armchair close to the bed, his wires and tubes and all equipment arranged carefully so as not to be in the way. He grinned at Connor with that “Look what I managed to do” grin that Connor hadn’t seen since before they’d left Boston. Connor grinned back and pulled up a chair.

“Now, was that so hard?”

The smile wavered on Murphy’s lips. Connor couldn’t bear the thought that Murphy might cry again, which he could feel threatening down the line. So he quickly added, “Look, Murph, I didn’t mean ter shout…”

But Murphy made an impatient hand gesture. “Ye were right, Conn. I was bein’ selfish. I have ter get better so we can get out of ‘ere. It’s just so damn hard…”

He lowered his head and Connor could feel the tears pressing against his mind. He thought he might cry, too. He took Murphy’s hand in his and Murphy looked back at him, cheeks wet. He’d also gone quite gray again, and now curled his left arm around his middle. Connor was on his feet in no time, going for the calling button.

“No, Conn, it’s fine. Jus’ help me lie back down.”

While they performed this ridiculously complicated maneuver Connor made another mental note that it was never, _never_ a good idea to agree to any of Murphy’s plans if he started a sentence with _Jus’_ …

When Murphy was finally settled, dosed up on an extra shot of morphine (Connor didn’t have to call the nurses, they came running when Murphy managed to lose one of the sticky monitor patches while climbing into bed; and they’d brought some of the good stuff which took the edge off for them both) Connor climbed in next to him. He settled comfortably into his usual spot, no longer worried about wires and tubes, and Murphy curled up against him with a sigh that was almost a purr.

Connor was almost a little jealous of the access to pain meds Murphy had. It would have been nice to dampen it all down every now and then. But he just sighed and pushed the thought away. Somebody had to keep an eye on things, after all.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last, gentle scene with some slight sexiness.

It was evening, a few days after their fight. Murphy had slept most of the afternoon away, just coming round long enough for Connor to feed him a few spoonfuls of soup. He’d been eating a little for a couple of days and had not been sick, which made Connor feel more hopeful than all other signs of recovery. He was also getting better about the sitting up for an hour or two each day, though it still tired him out.

Connor felt more content when he finally crawled in next to Murphy than he had since that awful night. He knew the other brothers were still looming large on Murphy’s mind, but Connor now knew he just had to accept it. This was part of their life now, and it wouldn’t help at all trying to force Murphy not to think about it anymore. All of this had been traumatic enough for Connor, but for Murphy it was a thousand times worse. And they hadn’t even talked about the quasi mental rape Marco had attempted towards the end…

Not tonight, though. Connor couldn’t think about this now, he just couldn’t. He’d just upset the fragile balance they’d achieved over the last few days. Murphy had, of course, picked up on everything that had gone through Connor’s mind. He settled more closely into Connor with a murmur of content.

_Not tonight, my love. Tonight…_

And incredibly, Connor could feel Murphy’s hand travel down his chest and towards the waistband of his boxers. He sent a half amused, half worried question down their connection.

_What are you doing, brother? You are still recovering from the beating of your life._

“Don’t need nothing but m’ hand for dis…”

Murphy’s voice was soft with sleep. He body felt warm against Connor’s. Not the feverish heat of days just gone, warmth familiar from many nights curled up like this, getting ready for pleasure.

Connor could feel Murphy’s soft breath against his neck, then gentle nibs traveling down his throat. Sometimes Murphy liked to bite him hard, and liked being bitten in return, but they were not quite back to that yet. The thought of Murphy well enough to fuck properly made Connor hard.

Murphy pulled away a little, his voice both wistful and amused. “Soon, Conn, I promise. For now, take ye shirt off. I want ter feel yer skin.”

Connor did as he was told, and Murphy nuzzled in even closer, if that was possible. He let his hand travel over Connor’s chest and belly, finding the trail that led right into Connor’s boxer shorts. Murphy’s mouth resumed its own task, scooting along Connor’s collarbones.

There was just one thing wrong with this all. “Damn, Murph, I so want ter touch ye, but I’m fuckin’ afraid ter hurt ye…”

“Touch me with yer mind, Conn.”

“But how? Ye know I’m no good at it…”

As a response he felt Murphy in his brain, pulling him along gently as if leading Connor by the hand into parts of his mind Connor had never been to before. He didn’t really understand what he was doing, but whatever it was it soon made Murphy gasp with pleasure. He pulled away quickly, though, closed off that part of his mind and adjusted himself on the bed with a hiss.

Conn was instantly on alert. “What is it?”

“We shouldn’t have done dat… It’s fine, Conn, really... Just ye touching me like dat got me hard, and with dat tube in my dick…”

Connor winced in sympathy, but could feel Murphy shake his head against his chest. “Not important, I wanted it. Now ye know what it’s like, at leas’. C’mere…”

And he resumed the stroking and teasing around Connor’s waistband. Connor tried to relax his mind, switch off the constant worry about how fragile Murphy had become and just enjoy the sensation. It was difficult, and he knew Murphy could tell he wasn’t a hundred percent committed.

And then Murphy was in his head again, doing something in there he rarely ever did. Tendrils seemed to be gliding through Connor’s very nerves, gliding along pathways Connor didn’t even know existed, zeroing in on his pleasure center. At the same time Murphy’s warm fingers closed around Connor’s cock and a spasm of pleasure jolted through him at the combined touch of mind and skin.

Finally, all other thought was silenced. There was only Murphy, his Murphy. A hand in his boxers, a mind intertwined with him, concentrating solely on Connor, only interested in giving pleasure, in making this moment matter. And Connor gave himself up, gave in.

_My love, deartháir… Mo chroí…_

*

Late at night. Connor was asleep, quieter, calmer than he had been in ages. Murphy was watching over him, keeping his dreams untroubled, soothing his worries. He didn’t feel tired, for a change. After all, he did nothing but sleep, these days.

Murphy shifted slightly. He could feel the pain creeping up in his guts again and was sure there’d be hell to pay soon for exerting himself. But they’d been closer to what they used to be today than they had since the warehouse, and that was worth some discomfort.

He reached around to find the button for the med pump that would deliver an additional dose of painkillers and pressed it. He hardly ever used the additional doses because the meds made his nausea worse, but now it was worth doing, to keep Connor from waking up. He could feel the morphine washing over him and relaxed.

More pain and suffering were inevitable for both of them, he knew it. But just this moment that could be a worry for another day. Murphy returned his mind to Connor’s, keeping him free of trouble, free of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! There's totally more to this story that has remained untold. Who knows, I might revisit one day. :)


End file.
